You'll Need to Hear the Whole Story
by SonicH2O
Summary: Varric told Cassandra much of the Champions story, but he left out some bits…and didn't know others. The full story of Garrett Hawke, Apostate and Champion of Kirkwall covers a full decade…not just three years of a decade. M Later. Hawke/Isabela.
1. The Destruction of Lothering

_Hawke's young in this. Probably about 20 when everything starts. So no Champion beard just yet._

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><p>"Pack quicker. We need to more," Carver shouted, moving through the small house like a madman, pulling at pots, flinging drawers, looking for any last dire items they might need.<p>

"Carver, please," Bethany soothed, her eyes going to Mother. Leandra was whimpering, her head buried in Garrett's chest. The usual expression of glee was missing from their brother's face. Carver growled; even that cocky bastard knew this was serious.

Carver straightened angrily, "We cannot stay here," his eyes flashed dangerously. He knew he'd never get the images of Ostagar out of his head. The screams…the smell…the horde…King Cailen's corpse… His fist clenched at his side.

Garrett's eyes suddenly darkened. "Mother, I think it might be time for us to move again," he murmured as he untangled himself from the weeping woman and he moved to the window sill. The Imperial Highway was barely a spec in the distance but the black wave moving down it was unmistakable. "They're here," Garrett added darkly.

"Oh Maker," Leandra murmured, clutching her stomach.

Garrett sighed heavily as he turned back to his siblings, "Is everything ready?" He reached down and scratched Shep, the family Mabari, behind the ears. The dog whined.

Bethany nodded.

"Good," Hawke murmured as he turned towards the door. Leaning against the fireplace was his staff, he grabbed it and tossed Bethany's to her. "Last time we had to run out like this father was being chased by Templars," Garrett chuckled, "That was much more fun," he added glibly.

"Would you just shut up," Carver growled, brushing past his older brother.

Garrett chose not to retort; Carver tended to fight sloppy when he was agitated and they couldn't afford that. His eyes drifted up the steep hill their house was wedged against. It would be slow enough going getting to higher ground without having to worry about his brother's state of mind. Mother's age was starting to show; she wasn't as fast as she used to be.

They emerged from the house slowly. Hearing his mother bite back a sob Hawke winced. Lothering had meant so much to her. They'd been on the run for years, always weary of setting down roots. But they'd had seven good uninterrupted years in Lothering as a family before…before Father had died. And after that, they'd spent another three rebuilding their lives. But always in Lothering.

"Which way?" Carver's voice roused Hawke from his musing. Hawke bit back a grin; Carver hated being in his big brothers shadow-but as soon as a decision had to be made, guess who he turned to.

"We could go North or we could go South. Do you have a coin on you?"

"Garrett!" Bethany hissed, elbowing her big brother in the rib. The icy glare she sent him wiped away his smirk.

"We get to high ground," Hawke gestured up the mountain, "At the very least we'll be able to see the Darkspawn horde as it comes at us," he added under his breath.

"I heard that," Bethany muttered, shooting him another glare.

Their progress up the slope was slower than Garret had feared. By the time they reached the peek, the Chantry was already in flames. Hawke shivered; regardless of his feelings about the Chantry and its Mage Hunters, seeing the house of The Maker in flames…

Garrett turned his attention to his brother who was bringing up the rear guard. "Carver, you might move quicker if you're sword wasn't bigger than you," he smirked as his brothers face reddened. Garrett pulled the knife from his belt, "If you want this instead just say the word." So much for his resolution to keep Carver's mind focused; his brother's buttons were just too easy to push.

"Maker's breath, you're an ass," Bethany muttered.

Carver opened his mouth to retort when their mothers scream cut him off.

"Darkspawn," she whispered, pointing towards the side of the hill. A handful of darkspawn were headed straight for them, their pale, gray faces and foaming mouths clearly visible.

"Scouts," Bethany swore softely.

"How did they get up here? You were supposed to be watching," Carver accused as he pulled mother farther down the trail away from the horde.

Garrett pushed his sister in front of him, making himself rear guard. Chances were this was his fault. Regardless, he planned on keeping himself between the darkspawn and his family. "Don't look at me, I was watching the front," Garrett glanced back over his shoulder, "Why weren't you paying attention? The sides were you're responsibility," he goaded. Slowly they started pulling away from the horde.

"I was watching the back!" Carver shouted angrily. "Watch the back, watch the sides, watch everything!" Garrett heard Carver mutter. Unsure of whether to roll his eyes at his brother or sigh in exasperation, Garrett opted to do both.

More spawn appeared on their other side, much closer than the others. One was much too close. Instinctively, Hawke felt a surge of magic rush through him and he pointed the staff towards the Hurlock which immediately screamed in pain as it caught fire. Another, an archer, was lining up a shot. Hawke paused and took aim. The creature screamed as it burst into flames and jumped off a nearby ledge. The milliseconds Garrett had paused had cost him. A group of the creatures was gaining and his family was pulling away from him. Slinging his staff back over his shoulder Garrett broke into a sprint.

The creatures were licking at his heels and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears as he ran to catch up to his family. Bethany turned suddenly and fire erupted from her hand. Hawke ducked effortlessly to the side, and another spawn burst into flames. The flames licked at the ground, cutting the rest of the spawn off from them, allowing them a moment to breathe.

Smoke was now rising from what had once been their house.

"Maker," Leandra's voice broke, "We lost it all…everything you're father and I built…"

Garrett felt his throat tighten. "Well at least we're still alive. That's no small feat," he offered hopefully.

"We should have run sooner, why did we wait so long?" Bethany finally turned her glare on Carver.

"Why are you looking at me? I've been running since Ostagar," Carver folded his arms across his chest indignantly.

Garrett bit back a retort. Yes Carver, you got to go fight for the kingdom because both of your siblings very existence is a crime. Hawke sighed and ran a hand through his hair; father had taught him more than enough spells-he should have been at Ostagar, should have been able to serve his kingdom, same as any other Fereldan. Being an apostate didn't mean he lacked patriotism…or whatever it was when applied to the survival of the human race…and the elven one…and probably the dwarves too. He bit back a chuckle; Cailan really shouldn't have been so picky about who was allowed to fight at his side. Garrett sighed; he really was a sick individual, the king's body wasn't even cold yet. Bethany would be ashamed if she knew what he was thinking.

"Not to interrupt the finger pointing, but the Blight isn't going to wait for us to finish our little chat before they attack again," Garrett muttered, glancing back at the Darkspawn trapped by the slowly fading flames. The darkspawn prowled back and forth, gurgling cries sporadically erupting from their throats.

"Then lead on," Carver jerked his head down the path they were on. Garrett smiled politely; he was impressed that his brother had managed to defer leadership to him and make it sound mocking simultaneously-Carver was learning. Garrett was so proud.

His delight was short lived as another wave of darkspawn emerged, this time from the direction they were headed.

"Where do these things come from?" Carver moaned as he charged ahead , swiftly beheading one darkspawn and gutting another in one fluid motion.

"I think The Deep Roads," Hawke yelled, roasting a darkspawn as it moved towards his brother.

Carver stared at his brother incredulously for a second, before turning and slicing the sword arm off the last Hurlock.

"We need to move faster," Carver breathed heavily, wiping the blood from his sword.

"Where are we going?" Bethany said suddenly, her voice cracking fearfully, "We can't just wander aimlessly."

Garrett's fist clenched. He couldn't promise his sister-any of them-anything, not even that they'd make it through the night. "As long as we wander aimlessly away from the horde I'm happy," he said, offering her a smile.

"We could go to Kirkwall!"

There was a pregnant pause as the suggestion sunk in.

"Why…would we go there?" Carver asked.

"It certainly wasn't my first choice," Hawke added, "Or my fifth."

"There are a lot of Templars in Kirkwall mother," Bethany added nervously.

"We have family there. And an estate!"

Hawke nodded. "It's as good a plan as any," he shrugged. Before anyone could argue Garrett spun on his heel and resumed walking.

Soon the sound of steel on steel hit his ears and Hawke ran towards the sound, stopping at a bend in the road he poked his head around the corner to investigate. He swore softly. Darkspawn and templars. His eyes darted skyward momentarily in frustration; when he'd said he would rather be running from Templars he hadn't really meant he wanted to run from Darkspawn AND Templars. It had been more of an either/or request.

Carvers hand was suddenly on his shoulder, pulling him back, "Let them slug it out. We'll fight the winner," he whispered.

Hawke shook his head glumly, "I'd rather take my chances with the Templar," he muttered.

Carver sighed, "Fine, ignore my advice…terrific, get yourself captured. I'm not the one who will have to wear those robes." Nevertheless, Hawke saw his brother's shadow right behind his as he charged towards the fray.

The darkspawn fell easily to the combined might of his brother and the strong red headed woman accompanying the injured Templar.

"Apostates! Keep your distance!" The Templar yelled, even as Carver slew the final darkspawn.

Bethany chuckled darkly. "So the Maker has a sense of humor. Darkspawn and now a templar, I thought they'd all abandoned Lothering," she challenged.

Hawke bit back a smile. Bethany had simply beaten him to the punch; he'd wanted to say much the same…only she said it much nicer. She was always the nice one.

"I'm sure in the face of a Blight we can all be reasonable," Hawke smiled towards the still furious looking templar.

"The spawn are clear in their intent, a mage is always a-"

"Wesley dear they saved us," the red head chimed in.

Hawke allowed his smirk to stretch across his face as he watched the Templar instantly retreat.

"There's a good Templar," Hawke smiled. "Can you keep up?" he gestured to the man's wounded arm.

"Even with healing…I don't know," the Templar admitted.

"Bethany, why don't you give it a try," Hawke added.

Bethany turned sharply towards her brother, "Are you sure that's wise?"

"One more sword between us and the Darkspawn? Yes please," Carver muttered.

Hawke smiled, "For you Carver, that was oddly eloquent." Bethany moved towards the Templar reluctantly.

Carver rolled his eyes. Two more bodies-even if it was just one more sword-that would mean the world of difference between whether or not they made it out alive.

The red head stared at him intently, "I recognize you."

"That's not good," Hawke muttered.

"You fought at Ostagar," the woman looked him up and down.

Carver nodded.

"I can't do anything more for his arm Garrett," Bethany announced, removing her hands from Wesley's shoulder.

"It feels…slightly…better," the Templar winced. "…Thank you," Wesley added with some effort.

"Now I've seen everything," Hawke muttered.

Darkspawn continued to flood their path, their number always seeming to increase. The red head-who introduced herself as Aveline-turned out to be an exceptionally talented warrior. She would plow into waves after wave of enemy, corralling the spawn so that he and Bethany could pick them off from a distance.

"Quickly," Aveline sighed as she bashed in one final spawns head with her shield, "Before they regroup."

Bethany took lead, Carver flanking the left, Aveline the right, with Hawke bringing up the rear guard. They formed a tight bubble around their mother and Wesley as they moved. The ground below them suddenly started to tremble. Garrett felt his heart begin to race-earthquakes were an exceptionally rare event…then he saw the horns peek against the crescent of the horizon. An Ogre.

The large beast charged towards the group, bellowing furiously.

"Stay together," Aveline screamed, reaching an arm out to pull Wesley and even Carver back.

Bethany stood her ground, pushing mother behind her. Garret realized a second too late what his sister planned.

"Bethany! Get back!"

"Maker give me strength," She murmured, slamming the butt of her staff into the ground. The fire erupted from it, and the Ogre was instantly drawn to the flame. Hawke lunged forwards to grab her, but the Ogre was faster.

It's fingers curled around her and slammed her against the ground. Bethany screamed in pain. It wound up again to slam her into the ground. Any sound Bethany made was drowned out by the deafening sound of bones mashing dirt. Satisfied, the Ogre threw her aside like a ragdoll. The last sickening crunch of hearing her land broke echoed in Hawke's ears.

The Ogre roared again and charged. Carver pulled their mother out of its path. Seemingly oblivious to the monster, she ran to Bethany's side. Hawke stared mutely at his sister's face. Her eyes were open and lifeless. She was gone. With a scream Garrett threw himself into the battle, sending wave after wave of magic towards the goliath beast. Carver was hacking at the thick hide of its legs, trying to topple it, while Aveline stood directly in the fiends path, keeping the brute's attention on her. They danced and parried the beast, constantly forced to divert their attention as other darkspawn appeared.

Hawke raised a hand to his face to wipe away the sweat and frowned. His nose was bleeding. He swallowed hard, feeling dizzy and light headed. He'd never fought before, not in anything more than a few small skirmishes, and he'd never used this much magic before in his life. He swayed slightly and dropped to a knee, trembling. His vision started to twist and dance in front of him.

"Garrett!" Carver's voice broke through to him. The Ogre was standing over him. Tightening his grip on his staff Garrett rolled quickly out of the beasts way when it lunged its claws out to grab him. Stumbling to his feet Garrett swung the staff down and stabbed the end of the staff through the creatures hand. It roared and swung its other hand towards him and the staff. The Ogre's hand slammed through the staff, snapping it like a twig, and he backhanded Hawke, sending him sailing through the air. Hawke landed hard, gasping as all the air was sucked from his lungs.

Carver jumped on the creatures back and thrust his sword deep into the creatures back. Flailing, it reached for him too. Carver screamed and twisted the sword in the creatures back, snapping the muscle tendons. The Ogres arm fell uselessly to its side and began to sway. Leaping from its back Carver rolled out of its way as it fell dead.

Hawke rose shakily to his feet. Splintered shards of his staff were wedged into the skin of his bare arm. Ignoring it he ran to his mother's side.

"Bethany, it's over," their mother's voice trembled as she shook her youngest child's arm forcefully, trying to rouse her from death.

Hawke sank to his knees next to his sister. Bethany's eyes were still wide open, lifelessly staring at him. Garrett clenched his teeth. She was gone…his little sister. He reached a hand out slowly to close her eyes.

"Don't you touch her! This is your fault," his mother hissed, pushing his hand away.

Hawke's face paled. It wasn't his fault. They'd been fighting an Ogre, no one could have …but if he'd been faster. He should never have let her take lead; he should have made her switch with him. It should have been him.

"You daughter is gone miss. Allow me to commend her soul to the Maker," the injured Templar offered.

Hawke listened numbly as the Templar who, hours earlier had wanted to attack Bethany, gave her her final prayer. He wasn't sure Bethany would appreciate the irony. For once, even he didn't.

Carver stood up and turned away from the body, his shoulders heaving . Hawke watched silently as his mother continued to cradle Bethany's body in her arms; she was still weeping. A sudden knot formed in Garrett's stomach as he realized they wouldn't even be able to bury her.

"We need to move," he said finally, his voice flat; Bethany wouldn't want them all to die hunched over her corpse. Leandra looked up at him, her eyes and face still red from tears, and glared at him accusingly. Hawke glanced away unable to deal with her anger. Maybe it was his fault.

The screeching cries of darkspawn filled the air. "Maker, not again," Aveline swore, pulling her sword and shield from her back again.

Standing, Hawke winced as he flexed his arm. The shards of wood imbedded in his flesh wouldn't make casting much fun…not that he had much juice left anyhow. Hawke inhaled deeply, calming himself, searching for the strength. There wasn't much left…maybe one last fireball…a horde was coming towards them, a mob, all scrunched together. The flames licked at his fingers…almost there. He gritt his teeth, pulling forth all the energy he could and sent the fireball hurling towards the darkspawn who screamed viciously as they exploded into flames.

Suddenly a blood curling screech filled the air. Hawke stopped breathing as he turned to stare at the beast who'd made the sound. It was a dragon. He felt a small sardonic smile tug at the corner of his lips. So this was how it ended? Not at the hand of darkspawn, nor templars, or even Ogres…dragons.

The dragon's wings unfolded, sending a shockwave through the air. It launched itself into the sky, its mouth opening wide to consume all of them. It went straight for the darkspawn, lighting them aflame and tearing at the rest with its mouth and fangs as the small group of refugees watched in awe.

And then it changed into a woman.

Dragging a darkspawn's corpses in one hand the woman sauntered over to them, a coy smile on her lips.

"Well, well what do we have here," she murmured. Hawke heard the clank of armor hitting the ground as Wesley fainted. Hawke smirked; there were probably way too many apostates around for him to handle.

Hawke ignored the tremor of terror in his stomach as the woman stared at him. He reminded himself that if she'd wanted to kill them she would have done it as a dragon. So they were safe…for now.

And if she did decide to kill them, it wasn't like there was much they could do anyways.

"That's a nice trick," Hawke offered. "I want to turn into a dragon," he mused.

The woman chuckled, "Who says I'm not a dragon?"

Hawke smiled. He was really starting to like this alarmingly powerful apostate, "Then this is an even better trick," he gestured to her human form.

She ignored his remark, "If you wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know you are headed in the wrong direction." She turned to walk away.

"What, that's it? You're just going to leave us here?" Carver asked indignantly.

"Can I not? I spotted a most curious sight. A mighty Ogre vanquished. Who could perform such a feet? Now my curiosity is sated and you are safe-for the moment. Is that not enough?"

"Well I'd still like to be a dragon," Hawke mused.

The witch heard him and laughed heartily. She paused a moment before speaking, "The darkspawn are everywhere-or soon will be. Where is it you'd run to?"

"We're trying to get to Kirkwall," Carver admitted tersely.

"Kirkwall. My, that is quite the voyage you plan," she mused. "You're king will not miss you?"

Hawke grinned, "I certainly doubt he'll miss me," he glanced back towards Aveline and Ser Wesley, "Well, he might miss the Templar," Hawke admitted glibly.

The witch laughed again, "Such a tongue…for a mage," she stared at him silently for a moment, "Hurtled into the chaos, you fight. And the world will shape before you," she murmured, her eyes far off and glassy.

Hawke glanced at Carver. His brother shrugged. The witch continued to mutter to herself quietly.

"It appears I may be able to help you yet," she announced, smiling sweetly.

Hawke shifted uncomfortably. "There must be a catch…"

"There is always a catch! Life is a catch! I suggest you catch it while you can," she chuckled.

Hawke felt Carver tense next to him. "Maybe we shouldn't trust her," he whispered, "We don't even know what she is."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds Carver," Hawke said calmly, still staring at the witch. Father had told him and Bethany about them years ago. He'd also heard the Chaisand tales; unlike Carver he didn't feel above listening to the 'foolish tales of the barbarians'.

The Witch nodded, "Indeed. Some call me that. Also, Flemeth. Asha'bellanar…an 'old hag who talks to much'," she cackled again. "Does it matter? I offer you this, I will get your group past the horde. In exchange for a simple delivery that is not far out of your way."

Hawke tensed. He didn't like this. This may not have been the fade, but he was dealing with a demon all the same. "You can turn into a dragon. Why do you need me to make a delivery for you? Can't you just fly on over and deliver this…whatever it is…yourself?"

"I have…an appointment to keep here," Flemeth said cryptically.

Hawke sighed and turned to Carver. Carver shrugged; typical.

He could still hear mother weeping hysterically behind him. She was in no mood or condition to offer consul. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aveline trying to redress Wesley's wound. The two of them wouldn't make it if they continued at their current pace. And without Bethany…He couldn't lose anymore of them. He had to keep what was left of his family safe.

"I'd have to reach Kirkwall first," Hawke agreed reluctantly.

The witch smiled at them. "Then let me tell you what must be done…"

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><p><em>Liberties will be taken as the story cotninues...Varric glossed over some big things(like...years...)...and I think he neglected to mention a lot of character moments...<em>

_Hopefully some people will think there is some potential here. I dislike directly rehashing the plot...want to hit the points of it but...focus my attention elsewhere as well...if that makes sense?_

_Enjoy and Review!_


	2. What the Slaves of Old Saw

_Glad to see there is interest in the fic!_

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><p><em>The Templar's hand closed around his. "Thank you," he murmured weakly. Hawke plunged the knife into Wesley's chest, feeling the knife slide deeper and deeper until the hilt of the knife rested against the knights rib cage. The Templars scream gurgled on the edge of his lips and he whimpered quietly in his dying moments.<em>

_"My turn brother," Bethany's voice said lightly from behind him. "You have to kill me next."_

Hawke screamed and woke with a start. Lightning briefly illuminated the ships hold as the ship rolled and tumbled in the storm. Aveline's eyes came to him sharply, an odd combination of hatred and worry on her face. Hawke averted his eyes quickly, glancing around the deck for his family. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room and he spotted them on the other side of the ship. Carver was sleeping, his head in mother's lap. Mother was sitting against a beam, her eyes closed, running her hand lightly through Carver's hair.

His hand moved to his pocket and he pulled out the small amulet The Witch had given him. It was such an ordinary thing…but unusually heavy….dense even. He ran his fingers over the smooth rounded surface of the amulet…whatever it was, it was of incredible worth to a woman who could turn into a dragon. …Or a dragon who could turn into a woman. He wasn't entirely sure.

He felt a wet nose push its way into his hand and he smiled as his Mabari licked his wrist, as if knowing his thoughts. Hawke scratched him behind the ear, "I know you don't like being cooped up like this boy. It'll be over soon," he whispered as the Mabari drifted back to sleep.

Hawke stood slowly, swaying as the ship rolled, barely staying afloat against the waves. He needed air. Lots and lots of air. He staggered to the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the rail as he forced his way up to the top deck.

The crew was screaming, trying desperately to control the mast above them while the sail billowed and cracked in the wind, barely withstanding the abuse of the storm.

"Hawke! Glad you're up, we could use a hand."

Hawke turned towards the voice at the helm. "I'm sure you could Bellick," Hawke smiled and moved towards a sailor struggling to rein in the sail. The rope was slick from the pounding rain and slipped through his fingers. Wrapping his hand in the rope Hawke heaved, staggering backwards with the scrawny sailor, pulling the sail up; the wind was too strong, it would snap the sail-maybe even the mast-right in half if they didn't pull it up.

Breathing heavily Hawke moved back towards the helm. Bellick laughed happily. The grey haired man was a life long sailor and undeterred by the storm. "You catch on pretty quick Hawke," the man yelled over the storm.

Hawke smiled, "Well my entertainment options were learn to sail or lose my remaining coin to the card game below deck," he shrugged. Bellick laughed and his pudgy belly shook.

"I'd offer you a job Hawke…but I just hired a new hand," he pulled a face, "My son in law," he pointed to the man puking over the side of the ship.

Hawke grinned. "While I appreciate the offer, I'll be doing much the same if I don't see shore soon."

"If you were out here longer I think you'd find your sea legs," Bellick said confidently. "I've got an eye for these things," he pointed again to his son-in-law, "And I knew I wasn't going to like him the day my Darcy brought him home," he muttered. "But he's family. Nothin' I can do."

Hawke's smile slipped. His family…Mother was still barely talking-not at all to him. She typically spent her day with her legs kicked over the back of the ship, staring back towards Fereldan, crying silently. Mourning for Bethany had become secondary to making sure Mother ate on a daily basis. Carver blamed him for mother's state. And for Bethany. Hawke ran his hand through his sopping wet hair, pushing it from his eyes.

Aveline was much the same, mourning her husband's death. Only, of the three she seemed the one least resentful of the role Hawke had played in the deaths in their group. A templar's widow was friendlier to him then his own mother. A month ago he never would have believed it.

"Haha, would ya look at that," Bellick mused. "The storms letting up."

Hawke smiled and turned towards the bow of the ship. Squinting, he cocked his head, "What's that on the horizon?"

"Haha, looks like the storm blew us closer to Kirkwall then I thought. That there? Is the top of The Gallows," Bellick said.

"The Gallows?"

"The mage prison…er…well, their Circle of Magi," Bellick said gruffly. "If you excuse me Hawke, the lads and I need to prepare for dock!"

Hawke nodded, ducking back below deck, "Sailing right to a mage prison. Terrific. I should have Carver wrap me in a bow. We can get off the ship and present me to the Templars as a present," he shook his head.

**The Gallows:**

"They aren't letting anyone into the city," Aveline announced, pointing towards the guards blocking the gates.

"What? No, they can't keep us out!" Leandra mumbled. After everything they'd gone through to get here…

"Is it really that surprising? People have been fleeing Fereldan for months. They're probably sick of us," Carver said angrily.

"I'm just surprised they let us dock," Hawke shrugged. Mother let out a small whimper. Hawke sighed, his brow pulling together. He placed his hand on his mothers shoulder nervously, "If there's a way in, we'll find it," he promised her. She nodded numbly, not looking at him.

"Let's just go," Carver muttered, brushing past him.

Hawke sighed and turned his eyes to the large prison they were standing outside of. "So this is what a mage prison looks like. Lovely," he glanced around at the dock.

People were crammed together, lying on bedrolls, huddling together for warmth. Some had been here for days, maybe weeks. Hawke jogged to catch up with his family and Aveline. Maker! They were already in an argument with the guard.

"-Trying to bully your way through won't get you into Kirkwall any faster," the guard sneered. He looked them up and down; they were dirty and haggard from two weeks on a rolling ship, "We have enough of our own without letting in Fereldans," he spat. "You Fereldans all smell like wet dog," he added.

"Well, you might actually be smelling a dog," Hawke gestured down to the mabari at his heels. Shep whined.

The guard sneered again, "Leave me alone or talk to my superior. I can't let you in," the guard gestured behind him and let them pass.

Hawke lead the way up the stairs to the Gallows Court yard. The place was flooded with refugees as well, crammed to the brim. The Tevinter statues loomed over everyone, casting shadows over patches of the courtyard.

"I think Kirkwall needs a new decorator," he mused quietly. Shep barked in agreement.

They weaved their way through the herd of people till they located the only guard in sight. A heavily armed group of travelers were arguing with him.

"We've been out here for days."

"We've been letting in Fereldan refugee's since the Blight started, there's no more room," the guard said dully; it obviously wasn't the first time he'd explained this to them.

"Surely there must be a tiny little corner available somewhere," Hawke suggested, "At least for the pretty people," he pointed to himself with a smile.

Aveline said something under her breathe Hawke was sure wasn't flattering.

"I find the idea of keeping my head far more attractive than any of you," the guard muttered.

"Please, we have family here," Leandra plead.

"I've heard that claim before-many, many times," the Guard said.

"His name is Gamlen Amell," Carver offered.

"Gamlen…I know that name," the guard sounded surprised.

"Our family has an estate here," Carver added.

"The only Gamlen I know doesn't have two coppers to rub together. Not that he'd know what to do with them if he did," the guard scratched his chin thoughtfully, "If Gamlen comes around, I'll be sure to send him your way."

"What! You're going to let them in?" one of the armed refudgee's challenged.

"No, we've been here for days. They only just got here!" Their leader said, pulling his sword from his back.

"Ser, do not do this," the guard warned, pulling his weapon as well.

The people in the immediate area screamed and started pushing their way back from the fight. Guards started pushing their way through the crowd to come to their comrades' aid.

One of the armed men turned to Carver and swung an axe at him. Carver avoided the blow easily, reaching for his own greatsword. Swinging it effortlessly, the man's head rolled away from his body. Aveline was content to use her shield to bash any of the warriors dumb enough to come near her. Hawke smiled; that woman terrified him-but in a good way.

He heard a scream and turned to see a warrior charging straight for him. Hawke swore softly. Without his staff he was fairly useless….especially with all these guards around-It made things like fireballs completely out of the question. Hawke grinned; there was one trick he had up his sleeve. He channeled the magic through his body and raised his hand towards the man and watched as he doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"I hate when you use that one," Carver muttered, staring at the man as he gasped and writhed in an invisible crushing prison.

"It was father's favorite," Hawke reminded him. Carver shivered.

"Still. Creepy," he shook his head and wiped the blood from his sword. The man on the ground gave one last gasp and died as his lungs collapsed.

"Thank you for your help," the guard said, breathing heavily. "I…I wish I could just let you into the city. I don't have that kind of authority…but I will find your uncle and bring him here," the guard promised.

**The Gallows: Days Later:**

Hawke rubbed his neck. Sleeping on the cold cobblestone in the Gallows court yard was even more painful than sleeping in the hold of the ship. He leaned his head against the base of the statue he was sitting against, feeling his skin blister under the intense sun.

Aveline ran her hand across her neck, wiping the sweet away. "It's been three days. This cannot continue," she said irritably.

Hawke shrugged, "If I had a spell to get us into the city I'd use it," he promised her.

She sighed and glared at him.

Hawke grinned innocently. Yesterday, under the intense heat of the sun, he'd finally figured out that Aveline didn't particularly enjoy sarcasm. Yet, as usual, he was unable to stop himself.

"Wait look," Leandra's hand shook as she pointed through the crowd. "I…I think that's him," she said, struggling to stand. Carver helped her to her feet.

The man walking towards them was greasy. Despite his age, he still had all his hair, which was slicked back against his head. His eyes were red and bloodshot-either from a tireless night of searching for his family among the refugees, or from a nasty hangover. Hawke was inclined to believe it was from the latter.

"Leandra?" The man said happily, "Damn girl. The years haven't been kind to you," he held out his arms wide, revealing small stains of sweat.

"Gamlen!" Hawke watched as his mothers face lit up into a large, genuine smile. She embraced her brother happily.

Gamlen quickly became uncomfortable with the show of affection, "Leandra…let me say up front I wasn't…expecting to see you back. I figured you were pretty much Fereldan for life…" he pulled back from her slowly.

"We left too late," Leandra said mournfully, "Bethany," Leandra hung her head, her eyes briefly drifting over her two remaining children. Hawke flinched. "She didn't make it."

Gamlen sighed, "Maker. Leandra, don't drop this on me. I don't even know if I can get you in…There're a lot of palms that need greasing to make that work."

"Shouldn't be a problem, just take a little off your hair," Hawke muttered. He heard Carver chuckle besides him. Hawke smiled; it was good to see that even Carver was instantly put off by their uncle.

"But…what about the estate? Surely father left something when he died?" Leandra questioned.

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably, twisting his hands, "Right er…about the estate…its…gone."

"Gone?" Carver echoed.

"Did it vanish?" Hawke added.

"To settle a debt. I've been meaning to write you…"

"Oh…guess that's a no on the vanishing then," Hawke sighed, feeling his teeth clench. He folded his arms over his chest, forcing his irritation down.

"Then…there is no hope," Leandra whispered.

"Not quite…I know some people who might help. People who can get you into the city…assuming of course that you aren't er…to…delicate…about the company you keep," Gamlen smiled.

"That sounds…suspicsious," Hawke said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well we don't have much of a choice," Carver added, sounding equally unhappy.

Hawke nodded reluctantly.

"They can get you in but the catch is…Garrett and Carver would have to work off the debt…for a year," Gamlen explained slowly.

Hawke inhaled deeply. A year of indentured servitude. He sighed. The truth remained that they had no real other choice. Leaving, trying to find another city was out of the question. Kirkwall was one of many destinations ships had been departing to out of Gwaren. Everywhere in the Free Marches was bound to be as full of refugees as Kirkwall. And this was mother's childhood home…maybe…maybe she'd be happier here.

"Alright Uncle, who are these people."

"Two people are willing to lend a hand. Meeran runs the Red Iron, a mercenary group. Athenril…well, she's a smuggler."

"Killing people or slaving? No, that's….that's not an option," Hawke shook his head. He wouldn't let this Blight destroy every moral his father had taught him.

"Athenril doesn't smuggle slaves. Anything else however…I can't say," Gamlen shrugged.

Garrett sighed and looked at his brother, "Well Carver, it looks like we're going to be smugglers."

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><p><em>I don't know if this chapter has made it clear...I hope it has...I REALLY disliked Leandra. She was just so...ugh. She uses her children's desire for her love to hurt them (whether she does it intentionally or not). <em>

_Next chapter and chapter 4 will be dealing with the missing first year!_

_Enjoy and Review!_


	3. Elegance

_This is the part where I start taking liberties and working in my own subplots and character interactions to a large degree...Also, assuming these liberties don't make everyone go like... "Omg what have you're ruining it"...(not that I'm worried or anything...), chapters 4 and 5 will be about the first 'missing year' as well. And then it will meet back up with the established plot again. _

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><p>"Shit shit shit," Athenril swore, firing another arrow into the group of Coterie mercenaries that were blocking their exit.<p>

"We can't keep this up Athenril," one of her men yelled.

"This was a setup! There wasn't supposed to be this much resistance," Hawke added, flinging a fireball into the entryway, taking care of a few more mercs. He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion and ducked back behind the wall the group was using for cover. He inhaled deeply, willing the dizziness to end. They'd been at this way too long, and he was definitely running out of juice.

A bloodcurling scream came from their side and Hawke whipped his head around to Aveline. A bloody arrow was in her curled fist.

"There's nothing else to be done Carver," the tall red head apologized as she reapplied pressure to the wound. "We need to get him out of here Hawke. He's losing a lot of blood." Hawke came over and sat at his brother's side.

"You'll be fine Carver," Hawke affirmed, nodding as his brother looked up at him, his face contorted in pain. Carver had jumped from cover and instantly been hit in the side with an arrow. That had been almost an hours ago.

"Easy for you to say," Carver muttered, giving Hawke just a hint of a smile.

"Just think, only nine more months of this," Hawke promised his brother.

"Heh, ah, Maker, don't make me laugh," his brother muttered, clutching his side.

"This was supposed to be a simple mission, just picking up a little poison," one of Athenril's flunkies murmured unhappily.

"Hawke, their forces are starting to tire, we need to get out now. Clear the doorway," Athenril ordered.

Hawke sighed, "What am I suppose to do? Huff and puff and blow them out of here?," Athenril glared at him, "I don't have the kind of energy left to push us through Athenril," Hawke finished seriously, shaking his head slightly to keep down the dizziness.

Athenril sighed and reached into a pouch on her belt, "Take this," She threw a small blue vial to Hawke.

Catching it, Hawke cocked his head, "Lyrium?"

Athenril nodded, "It'll replenish your magic or mana or whatever it is you mages have," she shrugged. "Give you that extra kick we need."

"Brother…I'd hardly consider that a good idea," Carver winced, "Even I know what that stuff can do. –And you've seen Samson, that ex-Templar that hangs around Lowtown…" he gasped as another wave of pain hit him.

"I know Carver," Hawke sighed. Father had told him and Bethany all about lyrium. He'd never had any real need for it before-he rarely had to exert himself to the point of exhaustion back in Lothering. Now that he was a smuggler, it was happening more and more. Lyrium could be addicting…the Templars were pumped full of it. Infrequent use however wasn't…as bad. Hawke glanced down at his brother, pale from blood loss and in pain. His face darkened. It was his job to keep Carver safe.

"Wesley was still new to the order," Aveline added, "He was not…dependent on it…but he met more than a few Templars who were," her expression turned grave, "But there isn't much choice," she conceded, "Just…be careful Hawke."

"When am I not?" Hawke grinned at her.

"Don't make me answer that," she responded, smiling despite herself.

He laughed and popped the cap out of the vial, grimacing as the coppery tasting liquid slid down his throat. A wave of dizziness forced him back down to his knees. Suddenly he felt magic all around him, coursing and humming under his fingertips. He felt lighter and heavier at the same time. In a strange trance he stood slowly and flexed his hands. He picked up his staff, instantly able to feel the magic that flowed through it.

With a flick of his wrist he hurled a massive fireball towards the doorway, just as another wave of mercenaries entered.

Athenril picked off the stragglers with her bow. "That should give us a minute. Grab the cargo. Let's go," she ordered, nodding for the group to move out. "Hawke, lead the way."

Hawke glanced back to his brother. Thanks to Aveline, Carver was back on his feet, but he was paler then before.

They pushed through the doorway of the dock, out onto the streets of Lowtown and ducked into a back alley.

Hearing a whimpering noise, Hawke paused, looking around for the source of the sound. Taking a step forward he heard a slight squelching sound. He glanced down at his foot. He'd stepped in blood. He heard the whimper again. His staff raised, he moved towards the noise slowly. One of the mercs was still around somewhere.

"We split up," Athenril ordered, "I'll take the cargo with Taylor and Lawson; Hawke, get your brother a healer or…something. I'll be in touch," she nodded tersely and vanished into the shadows.

"Well, as usual, Athenril was useless," Aveline muttered as soon as Athenril was out of earshot. Turning back towards the brothers, she frowned as she watched Hawke slink towards a large stack of crates. "Hawke what are you-"

He raised a hand to silence her. A trail of blood was seeping out from behind a crate. Hawke spun around the crate quickly, staff poised to attack and froze. A young blonde woman was shivering and whimpering, using the hem of her dress to stop a wound on her thigh from bleeding. Hawke took a knee next to her. She whimpered and curled back from him slightly.

"Easy there, I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured, trying his best to be soothing. She continued to push against him, trying to burrow into the wall, "I don't think whatever you're trying to do is going to work," he added, cocking an eyebrow. He moved her hand from the wound and winced sympathetically. An arrow head was imbedded in her leg. She had probably gotten caught in the crossfire from their fight with the Coterie. His expression turned grim; they were responsible, they needed to help her.

"Hawke, what are you do-Oh," Aveline paused as she took in the situation. "We should take her with us. She needs just as much help as Carver."

Hawke nodded, "I don't know what Athenril expects us to do."

"Just get me to the Blooming Rose," the young woman whispered hoarsely.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, "As much as my brother would love that idea under normal circumstances, I don't think a trip to the brothel will heal either of these wounds," he smiled.

"There are health potions there we can use, and some of the girls have some medical knowledge," the girl whispered.

Aveline made a noise of disapproval, "Yes, I'm sure they are all adept at taking care of things that start to itch and burn. But this is out of their league."

The woman shook her head and turned to Hawke, "Trust me, it's the best place for your brother."

Hawke stared at her for a minute. "Well, I suppose the worst thing that can happen is that Carver walks away with an arrow wound that's itching and burning too," he muttered.

Aveline rolled her eyes, "You mean an infection!"

"Well if we take him back to Gamlen's he'll definitely get one."

Aveline remaind silent for a long moment, "Fine. You're right. You're house is filthy."

"Gamlen's house," Hawke corrected. He glanced back to his brother, who was breathing heavily as he lay against the cold walls of the dock building. "Can you get Carver?" Aveline nodded and left, returning to the younger brother's side. Hawke turned his attention back to the woman, "I don't think I've gotten your name," he smiled warmly.

"Elegant," the woman returned the smile.

"Not your real name I take it?" he grinned. He moved in closer to her, "You're not going to be able to move with that in your leg," she stared at him skeptically, "I won't hurt you," he paused. She nodded, and with her permission Hawke moved forward, hooking one hand under her knees, the other around her back. She winced as he lifted her. "Ok, I guess I was lying," Hawke murmured lightly, his breathe brushing against her ear.

She smiled. "Not your fault," she murmured drowsily, leaning her head against his chest.

**Later: Blooming Rose:**

"They're treating Carver's wound now," Aveline announced as she walked back into the main room of the brothel, "Of course, with all the…female…attention he's receiving I don't think he even notices that he's been shot," she added wryly.

Hawke smiled, "That sounds about right," he gestured for her to take a seat at the bar. "I was just working out a payment," Hawke explained running a hand through his messy jet black hair. "Turns out bringing the Rose back a valuable girl and on-the-side potion maker doesn't get you free medical treatment," he shrugged.

Aveline rolled her eyes, "What a surprise."

"Um…er…Serah?" a young elven girl broke in nervously, wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact, "Er…Elegant would like to see you," she smiled innocently.

Hawke blinked in surprise.

"Hawke…I don't think you should-"

"Don't worry about me Aveline," Hawke smiled, "I'll be back down in a minute," he paused, "Which room was she taken to?"

"Up the stairs, go right, not left… Jethann hates to be interrupted," the girl added quietly.

Hawke knocked lightly on the door to Elegant's recovery room.

"Come in," her voice drifted through the door.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. Elegant was sitting on the edge of her bed, a tight bandage around her left thigh. "You're looking much better Elegant," Hawke offered.

"I'm already feeling it too…Thanks to you Hawke," she responded, gesturing for him to join her at the foot of the bed.

Hawke hesitated. "Elegant, I…I'm glad that you're feeling better but-"

"Hawke, I owe you. You saved my life," she hesitated, biting her lip, "So many people in Lowtown…if they'd found me…" she laughed humorlessly, "They would have just spread my legs and…," she shivered quietly.

Feeling his jaw clench, Hawke remained quiet.

"I don't know how else to repay…oh…you're brother," her eyes lit up. "He will need a special salve, to help with the pain, and to fight infection," she tried to get up and winced. "In the top drawer of the vanity," she pointed, "Take it."

Hawke did as she instructed, pulling out a large jar, full of a sticky cream colored goo. "Thank you Elegant," he said, offering her a sincere smile. Gamlen's house was a disease ridden rat hole, without something like this, something much more expensive then he could afford, Carver would have been in significant pain and danger for weeks. He moved back towards her.

She hesitated before speaking, "My other offer still stands," she grinned as she watched him freeze.

"I don't have the kind of coin for a woman of your…er…caliber," Hawke offered uncomfortably.

"I meant in my off hours Hawke," she trailed her fingers down his arm lightly, watching his face for a reaction.

Hawke inhaled deeply, trying not to react to the lingering feeling of her nails against his skin.

"You're blushing…" she murmured lightly, tugging him closer. Elegant pulled his face down towards hers, her cool breathe hitting his face. She brushed the hair from his eyes, "Have you never been with a woman before?" she murmured.

Hawke straightened, "What, no, of course I have…" he felt his face glow bright red. Maker…he was 20 years old! He'd been with a woman before…but just the one. Being an apostate tended to severely limit ones options.

She chuckled, "It was only a question Hawke," her eyes lingered on his body, assessing every taut muscle. She reached out and took his hand, turning the palm up, she traced it lightly and he shivered. "You are very attractive…and oddly heroic…" she smiled softly, "Nobility is a rare characteristic in Kirkwall." She pulled him to the bed and pushed him down, straddling him. Elegant raised a finger to his lips and traced it down his neck to the edge of his collar. "You're so young," she mused with a grin. Her fingers tugged at the strings of his shirt, untying them slowly. "There is much you could learn from me…if you were…interested," she said suggestively, punctuating her words by undoing his shirt. Her hands fell flush against his chest. He swallowed hard, feeling a burning sensation in his stomach. Her hands continued their slow teasing down his stomach.

"I'm…very…interested," Hawke said slowly, sitting back up. Mindful of her injured leg, he pulled her fully onto his lap, his grip on her hips tight. She grinned and rocked back and forth slowly, causing both of them to moan.

"I can see that," she whispered, pressing her lips against his as they fell back against the mattress.

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><p><em>A few comments...<em>

_1) Every mage ever seems to have love life issues. _

_2) Based on the two second exchange they have in the game...Hawke and Elegant...there was totally something there. _

_3) If there is anything you desperately want to see during the missing years...now would be a good time to review and mention it. I plan on hitting a couple major points, but I'll bet in my excitement to get to the first act (where I get to write all the characters yay!) I'm forgetting or neglecting something huge. _

_4) One last...possibly most significant note. I really want to work with the idea of the life of an apostate/ mage in general. So...lyrium...its a thing. _

_That's all I can think of..._

_Enjoy and Please Review! 8D_


	4. Happy Birthday Part 1

_Really? No reactions to last chapter? You wound me. _

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><p>Breathing heavily Hawke collapsed back against the hard mattress. He felt Elegant's hand rest lightly on his stomach.<p>

"That was…something," she whispered lightly, her breathe tickling his ear.

Hawke chuckled.

"But you need to leave," she added, all traces of romance gone from her voice. "You weren't even suppose to be here…you know the rules," she added, as she rose from the bed. "You were lucky I didn't have a client," she threw him his boot.

Catching the boot, Hawke sighed, and grabbed his pants. "Mr. What's-his-face with all the promises was otherwise occupied today?"

Elegant grinned. "You almost sound jealous," she smiled teasingly.

Hawke returned the grin; their arrangement was fine for him and for her. And they both knew it. It was fun, which was all it needed to be.

"He is going to get me out of here you know," she added suddenly. Hawke grunted as he laced his boot; he'd heard this before and he remained less than convinced. "He just needs a little more money, then we'll be able to open a potion shop, and I won't have to do…this…" she pointed to him, "anymore."

"I wasn't aware I was suddenly being lopped in with the rabble," Hawke cocked his head, a confident grin on his face.

"You know what I mean Hawke."

Hawke shrugged.

"Why did you come here? You know you can't come till afterhours…it's never been a problem before," she stared at him intensely.

Hawke shrugged again. For three months they'd lived with their comfortable arrangement, and while a level of respect had developed between them, physical attraction was the true extent of their relationship. Emotion was not a part of it and he didn't intend to add that particular ingredient now.

"Let's not ruin the moment," Hawke smiled politely.

Elegant raised an eyebrow appraising him. "Fine Hawke." Suddenly a knock on her door reverberated through the room. "Shit. Go, get out now!"

"Well I had planned on using that door there," Hawke said pointing towards the direction of the persistent knocking.

"It's my next appointment," Elegant hissed. "Use the window!" She pushed him towards it, throwing his other boot out the window after him.

Landing outside the back alley of the Blooming Rose Hawke sighed. He ran his hand through his messy black hair before picking up his boot. He'd been hoping to hide out at the Rose at least a little longer. Confrontation wasn't really his cup of tea but today he had the sinking suspicion it was going to be unavoidable.

It was Carver's birthday after all.

It was suppose to be Bethany's too. But it wasn't. Not really. He felt a knot form in his stomach. He let out a ragged sigh as he bent to lace up his other boot. He'd snuck out of the hovel early, not wanting to be around when everyone woke. He would wish his little brother a happy birthday eventually; he'd even prepared a gift! But Hawke knew he couldn't handle his mother's sad distant stare today; couldn't handle her speaking about how she'd wish for Bethany to be there as well. Not with the barely veiled accusation in every sentence, ever glance.

Hawke's wandering led him to the docks. The day was a gorgeous one. The water was rolling gently in the harbor, and the wind was blowing in just the right direction that the stench which typically seeped out of Darktown and rolled onto the dock wasn't noticeable. The sun was nestled right next to the peak of Sundermount, and its' rays were glistening off the water, making the surface of the cool blue ocean dance. Hawke plopped down on the edge of the dock, content with watching the boats in the harbor and the afternoon bustle of activity.

So maybe it was weak of him to run out. Cowardly. His hand picked idly at the lose fabric of his shirt.

He knew Bethany's death was his fault…but he couldn't change it, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he longed to. Mother still wept regularly. It seemed everything here reminded her of her own childhood, which reminded her off all the things she had done with Bethany when Bethany was still little. Feeling the knot in his throat tighten again, he buried his head in his hands and tried to breathe deeply. Maker, his little sister's death was his fault, his mother was still mourning the loss of her youngest, his Uncle was a pompous ass who'd gambled away a fortune, and Carver….well he was Carver.

Bethany had always managed to mediate his and Carver's antagonism, without her there…things had been tense, to put it nicely. The stress of mother being inconsolable hadn't really improved brotherly relations since getting to Kirkwall. The fact that they were crammed into a single room in a filthy hovel didn't really help matters either. They'd alwyas lived below their means as a family, needing to keep a low profile to keep the Templars from knocking on their door, but their house in Lothering had always been clean at least.

Hawke laid back and stretched out on the dock, staring up at the clouds. Why did the one right in front of him have to look so much like an Ogre?

He hardly called himself a long term thinker. But smuggling, fighting daily to survive against thugs, living in a filthy hole in a foreign land, with his little sister dead? He brought his hand over his face; the sun was making his eyes water. None of that had been a part of his life plan; not that his life plan consisted of much beyond 'Run really fast if you see a Templar and try to annoy Carver as much as possible in the process,' but still. He sighed heavily, longing for a drink with a large amount of alcohol in it.

A shadow suddenly blocked Hawke's sun. "Hey Fereldan! Get off my dock." The voice boomed, towering over him. Hawke stood up slowly and sighed, unaffected by the man's gruff voice and even more thuggish appearance; as a Fereldan in Kirkwall, one quickly got use to being second class. Beady little eyes starred at him, taking him in, and the man's lip curled, "You refugee's are nothin' but useless clutter for the sewers," he spat, deliberately aiming for Hawke's shoe. "Get out of here, before I decide to stop being nice to you charity cases," he added.

Hawke's jaw and fists clenched instinctively. The man watched his expression carefully, obviously expecting retaliation. Hawke's fist unclenched and he smiled to himself; if he wanted, he could kill the man with merely a thought and a wave of his wrist. Hawke chuckled to himself, the things people would say to others when they were ignorant. Ignoring the fleeting violent impulse, he inhaled deeply. A stiff drink was definitely on his agenda now.

He nodded silently and started down the dock, able to hear the dock workers conversation as he went.

"Hey, be careful with that! How many times do I have to remind you that this shipment is flammable!" the beady eyed man said to two other burly men who were unloading a shipment of cargo.

Hawke froze. He would never kill anyone in spiteful anger, but…a little…destruction of private property was practically a victimless crime. He wheeled slowly back towards the ship and watched as the two burly men unloaded another crate and then another onto the dock and stacked them neatly in a pile. Hawke allowed his eyes to flutter shut and felt the heat course through him to his finger tips. Glancing around surreptitiously, making sure the coast was-relatively-clear, he casually flicked a fireball towards the crates before spinning on his heel and continuing down the dock.

He heard the beady eyed man scream in alarm and smiled smugly. The noise of the man's terror really shouldn't have made his day, but it did. Bethany's voice rang loudly in his ear, '_Maker, you really are horrible sometimes brother._' He could see her shaking her head sadly at him, barely able to bite back a smile of her own. His smile froze on his face and the light left his eyes. Maker he missed her. Allowing his eyes to fleetingly travel skywards, he nodded once, curtly, towards the place The Maker supposedly was. If Bethany was up there, at The Maker's side, than she would understand what he was silently saying; he loved her, he missed her, and he always would.

Swallowing against the persistent lump in his throat, Hawke decided it was past time he head to the Hanged Man. It was probably a bit early to be drinking in Kirkwall, but it was past 5 o'clock in Fereldan and today that was as good an excuse as any.

**Later: The Hanged Man:**

"There you are," Carver's voice was heavy with irritation. "Mother has decided to cook a roast for dinner. She sent me to bring you back before it gets cold."

Hawke spun away from the counter and faced his brother. He took a slow sip of the drink in his hand. "That's Bethany's favorite," he paused as he watched the slightest twitch of Carver's jaw. "Where did she find the coin for that?"

"Apparently she's been saving," Carver muttered.

"I see," Hawke took another sip of his drink. So this day was to be a tribute to the fallen instead of the living after all.

"Had I known you were so close by, I wouldn't have wasted all the time I did going to Hightown to look for you at the Rose," Carver added, his agitation not dissipating. "The meals probably cold now. Thanks for that."

Hawke sighed. Carver hated roasts. Not that this really had anything to do with that. "Yes, making Bethany's favorite meal go cold was my goal when I left the house this morning," he said sardonically. Hawke stood up slowly; he wasn't drunk really, but he wasn't really sober either. He moved pasted Carver and towards the door of the pub. "Let's just go Carver," Hawke added, not feeling up to arguing.

It was Carver's birthday afterall and Hawke was hoping to avoid having to punch his little brother in the face this year.

"No, let's just stick around here a bit. You've ruined the day anyway," Carver added hotly.

Hawke rolled his eyes. What wasn't he responsible for ruining lately?

"I've ruined dinner Carver-inadvertently, I might add. If anything's ruined your day for you, it's that stick up your own rear end."

There was a long silence where Carver should have retorted, and then suddenly there was a loud scream. Hawke felt muscled arms wrap around him from behind, slamming him into the support beam in the middle of the Hanged Man's pub.

The drunk and rowdy patrons hooted and squealed in delight as Hawke staggered away from the pole, the wind knocked out of him. Carver only gave him a moment to recover though, as suddenly Hawke felt a fist connect with his mouth. The flesh of his lip split, and Hawke tasted coppery blood on his tongue. Carver didn't stop, sending swing after wild swing towards his brother.

Hawke didn't consider himself a light weight by any means, but he was no idiot-Carver had probably 20 lbs. of muscle on him thanks to all those years of training with a sword. He swept sideways to avoid one of his brothers larger right hooks. As Carver advanced, swinging madly, Hawke retreated slowly, avoiding most of his brother's blows, taking only the occasional glancing body shot. Suddenly Hawke felt the wooden wall of the pub against his back. He cursed softly, and ducked as his brother sent another large punch hurtling straight for his face. As his fist connected with the wall Carver howled in pain and Hawke took the opportunity to get in a good right jab to Carver's gut. The younger Hawke gasped audibly, the air leaving his lungs, and he staggered backwards a step. Hawke grabbed fistfuls of his brothers shirt and shoved him through the door of the Hanged Man; Carver would not corner him again. The patrons of the Hanged Man filed through the door after them, cheering loudly in their drunken stupors.

Hawke flung Carver into the street and Carver slid to his knees, palms scrapping against the hard gravel. Breathing heavily Carver rose back to his feet. Hawke ran his hand across his mouth, wiping away a trickle of blood. Even though Carver had gotten in many more punches, his elder brother still managed to wear a smug smirk on his face, "Come on Carver," Hawke said with a hollow laugh, "Let's not do this."

Carver growled, even his brother's attempt at offering an olive branch reeked of arrogant superiority. He lowered his shoulders and slammed into his brother.

The momentum of Carver's charge threw both of them crashing through the rickety table of a merchants stand. The merchant shouted furiously. Hawke gasped as Carver's knee landed on his stomach, making him cough and gasp for air. Carver remained unfazed by the landing, and rained punches down onto his older brother as the drunk men watching continued to chant and holler enthusiastically.

A sharp feminine voice rang through the crowd, "What on -ugh-you children!" Suddenly, Carver's knee was no longer pressing against Hawke's sternum, and as he sat up, gasping for breath, Hawke was delighted to see his little brother on the other side of the street, sitting flat on his ass in a puddle of mud. Slightly concussed, Hawke gleefully realized that Aveline had flung Carver across the street, all on her own. Maker, she was terrifying sometimes.

Aveline's exceptionally angry face soon blocked his view. Her hands were on her hips and he would have sworn he actually saw steam coming out of her ears.

Hawke grinned at her, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "Aveline. Fancy running into you here," he offered.

"Don't try to be charming Hawke," she seethed, reluctantly offering him a hand up.

He stood shakily, wincing as he felt the pull of the muscles on his back. Maker, that would be sore tomorrow. Drawing his hand across his mouth he winced; his lip wasn't in that great of shape either.

The crowd disappeared quietly, muttering unhappily about the anticlimactic ending to their impromptu entertainment act.

Hawke reached down slowly, every inch of his body protesting, and swatted the dust and dirt off of his pants. Aveline was still fuming silently.

Carver approached slowly, the anger and fury still dancing in his eyes. "You had no business interrupting Aveline," he said angrily, jabbing his finger into her shoulder.

Aveline stared at his finger jabbed against her collar bone, before allowing her eyes to slowly drift back up to his face. "Do not do that," she said, her words clipped, and teeth clenched.

Carver withdrew his hand slowly. "This was none of your concern."

"None of my concern my ass," Aveline offered hotly. "Your mother kindly invited me to dinner and when neither of her children showed up, I volunteered to go find them." She glared in disgust at both of them. "When I volunteered, I did not expect to find them brawling in the street like a couple of lowlife thugs."

"In case you've forgotten Aveline, that's exactly what we are," Hawke offered helpfully.

Aveline's jaw clenched. "You are a child Hawke," she hissed. "Pathetic children having temper tantrums in the streets for everyone to see," she added turning to Carver, taking her turn to jab an accusing finger into his chest.

"Why are you looking at me?" Carver asked indignantly, pushing Aveline's finger off of him. "It's his fault!" he pointed to his brother.

Hawke sighed. Somehow, that accusation seemed to be about more than just dinner or the brawl. "Let's just…go to dinner shall we?" Hawke offered evenly, not waiting for a response as he started back towards the hovel for a nice cold roast.

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><p><em>So I keep lying to you guys. Theres two more chapters at the moment before the first missing year concludes lol. The next chapter will be a continuation of this night (Hence, this part beign called Part 1!)<em>

_I'm going to confess something...I LOVE reviews. And I write chapters super quickly when I'm excited. Guess what makes me excited? REVIEWS! I post quickly when I get reviews. I've posted these first few chapters quickly to drum up interest, but I only expect this speed to continue if I see reviews. I'm addicted to them like that Templar in Howe's dungeon. Its tragic. _

_So..._

_Enjoy and Review!_


	5. Happy Birthday Part 2

_Wow. That was such an impressive leap! ( I woke up to like 17 notifications about various things. Includign lots of reviews!) _

_Thank you for supporting my lyri...er...Review addiction. _

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><p><strong>Gamlen's Hovel:<strong>

"Well, all things considered, I think this roast turned out just fine," Leandra said happily, scooping another piece of the overcooked meat onto her plate. "Who knew that fireball trick your father taught you and Bethany would be so practical!"

Hawke offered his mother a lopsided smile, unable to move the right side of his lips for fear of the wound there cracking open and bleeding again. "Yes, it's very practical mother," he agreed. He speared another piece of potato onto his fork and ate it while feeding another piece of the blackened roast to Shep below the table.

Aveline paused, a piece of roast inches from her mouth and gave him a withering look. Hawke paused; crap, he'd been caught feeding the dog. Aveline couldn't care less about that; just that she was being forced to eat the charred brick of meat while he was-in typical fashion-managing to avoid it. He smiled awkwardly and straightened in his chair. Shep whined and spit the meat out onto the floor.

"Oh! We completely forgot to give a toast!" Leandra said suddenly, beaming excitedly. Hawke sighed, trying to return his mothers smile. For Carver's birthday at least she was trying to act happier-of course, she had cooked a roast, which wasn't something Carver was particularly fond of, but, still, effort was there. "Gamlen, would you like to do it?"

Gamlen cleared his throat and sighed, "Uh, that's not really my cup of tea Leandra."

Her face fell, "Garrett, you'll do it won't you?"

Carver muttered something under his breath and then grunted in pain as Aveline's foot came down on top of his. He shot her a murderous glare which she returned in full.

"Of course mother I'll do it," Hawke agreed. Clearing his throat with a cough, he lifted his glass into the air. "To Carver, our new home, and our new beginning," he offered. Aveline smiled at him and nodded; obviously pleased he'd managed to get through a sentence without attempting to be witty. Hawke's eyes met Carver's and his little brother gave one small curt nod of his head in thanks. Leandra's eyes darkened.

"And to Bethany, may she find peace at the Maker's side," She added, sending a withering glare towards her eldest for such a sinful admission.

Hawke's throat tightened painfully, "Yes. Yes, and that too," he agreed. Everyone echoed their agreement.

Gamlen sighed heavily and quickly refilled his cup. Leandra was still staring angrily at Hawke when someone started pounding on the door.

"Hawke! Let me in now!"

Hawke stood up slowly and moved to the door, "Athenril, what are you doing here?"

"I'm not going to shout it through the door for all of Lowtown to hear, now let me in," she ordered.

Hawke sighed and unlatched the door, "You're the boss," he muttered, his eyes dancing furiously.

Noticing his irritation Athenril sighed, "I know I agreed to let you have the day off; I'm sorry. Something's come up," she shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

Carver cocked his head, "Wait-you got her to let us off?" Carver asked in bewilderment. Hawke shrugged; it didn't really matter now, since they obviously had some sort of pressing smuggling business to attend to.

Aveline sighed, "What exactly is this problem?"

"No! No, you will not go gallivanting off tonight!" Leandra slammed her hand down on the table. "We will have a nice family dinner and…" her voice caught, her eyes welling with tears.

"I promise you mother, there is very little gallivanting involved in what we do," he offered with a smile, hoping to improve her spirits. It did the opposite.

"Excuse me," she murmured, pushing her chair from the table, she walked brusquely to the bedroom and closed the door forcefully behind her.

Hawke winced and turned back to Athenril, "Well, looks like we no longer have any other plans. What is this pressing matter then?" he asked dully.

"The Red Irons are the 'pressing matter'," Athenril mocked angrily. Her eyes fell on Gamlen and her face contorted into a sneer, "When you told me you had an apostate in need of work, I didn't know that you had decided to announce that to anyone who would listen you good for noth-"

"Okay, just…calm down," Hawke stepped between Athenril and his uncle, calmly restraining the elf. "What exactly is going on?"

"Meeran. He's threatening to expose you as an apostate if we don't start paying him a cut of our profit," Athenril explained hotly. "If he did expose you, then the three of us will end up in the brig and you in the Gallows."

"But if he sends us all to jail, than he won't get what he wants. We won't be able to pay him," Aveline cut in, trying to be sensible. "It's a bluff, made to cause fear."

Athenril shook her head, "No, either way, he gets something out of it."

"Care to elaborate?" Hawke asked when she didn't continue.

"We've had a good six months. A very lucrative six months," Athenril nodded, "I attribute that in no small part to the three of you," she admitted grudgingly. "Some of the bosses have been getting a bit greedy, and we've stepped on a couple toes. It's cut into the Iron's business," the elf pinched the bridge of her nose. "And Meeran doesn't like to lose any profit," she chuckled, "He's always been a greedy bastard." She glared at Gamlen again, "And now he's decided to use this knowledge as leverage to make us pay him even more."

"An exploitative criminal. What were the chances we'd run into one of those," Hawke mused thoughtfully.

Aveline made a growling sound. "This is not the time for your 'humor' Hawke. I, at least, have no desire to end up in jail," she folded her arms across her chest, "Or to see you in the Gallows for that matter."

Hawke sighed, allowing his eyes to drift to the door to the bedroom, where mother was probably crying. "Believe me Aveline, I have no desire to end up in the Gallows either," he muttered; well, normally he didn't, today he felt oddly indifferent about the idea. "Does this have to be dealt with tonight?" he ran his hand through his hair.

"I'd rather take care of this quickly. I don't want Meeran getting out of hand," Athenril tapped her foot against the ground impatiently.

Hawke turned to Carver apologetically. Carver shrugged nonchalantly, "Why not. With the way this birthday is going, this could easily be the highlight."

Hawke smiled grimly, "Let's go find Meeran then."

**Darktown:**

"So tell me," Carver said, panting. He swung his broadsword expertly, slicing the blade cleanly through the body of a Red Iron thug, "How did you get Athenril to give us the day off," he stabbed his blade through the chest of a fallen but still gurgling mercenary, "Well-how'd you get her to almost give us the day off," he amended.

Noticing an archer about to line up a shot at Aveline, Hawke sent a fireball roaring his way, "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? Maker, now I am worried. What did you do?"

"I did her a favor. Let's leave it at that," Hawke said coyly, starting to feel his mana getting low.

"Behind you," Carver offered casually.

Hawke turned; a warrior was charging towards him, "Oh, thank you," Hawke muttered offhandedly, icing the approaching thug. Carver bashed the frozen man with the pommel of his blade.

"What favor?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. Carver needed to learn to let things go sometimes. "I got her a few potions she needed," he took a deep breath, shaking away the familiar dizziness of mana depletion, "Cover me," he ordered, placing his staff in the crook of his arm, he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out a lyrium potion. He popped the top off expertly and chugged the liquid, instantly feeling warmth and the hum of magic spread through his body.

Another wave of Red Iron thugs jumped from the rafters, attempting to ambush the group. Carver swung his great sword, effortlessly gutting two of the warriors.

"And how did you pay for that?" Carver asked wearily.

"I had Elegant send a few of her 'clients' my way," Hawke explained casually.

Carver froze, his eyebrows shooting up into his hair line, "You did what?"

Hawke grinned. "Relax brother," he chuckled and shot a lightning bolt over Carver's shoulder, electrocuting a would-be assassin, "It was a joke." Elegant had helped him acquire the potions. She was just letting him make it up to her in…unconventional…ways.

"Oh," Carver muttered, his sword hanging limply at his side.

"Is this the man we're looking for?" Aveline asked suddenly, shoving an older graying man towards Athenril.

Athenril smiled, "Indeed." She punched Meeran hard in the stomach, dropping him to his knees.

Carver turned towards Aveline, "How'd you know that was him?"

Aveline's lip curled in distaste, "He looked the type," she said simply.

"Hello Meeran," Athenril smirked. Meeran spat blood onto Athenril's boot. She slapped him.

Hawke watched the exchange tensely, his fingers curling around his staff until his knuckles were white.

"Athenril," Meeran coughed weakly, "I think you're taking this a little too far."

Athenril kicked him in the stomach, "You were trying to blackmail me," she grabbed a fist full of his hair and brought his face up towards hers, "You're lucky my bosses didn't get wind of this," she hissed, kicking the man again.

"I think he gets the message," Hawke intervened, "Blackmail bad. Honest mercenary work good," he nodded towards the lift out of Darktown, "Let's go."

"No, we aren't done," Athenril snapped. She pulled a knife out of her boot. "We aren't letting him walk away. We're putting the Red Irons out of business for good."

Hawke's eyes widened. They'd killed before-many many times, but this wasn't self defense, or a heat of the moment choice.

"We're smugglers Athenril, not executioners," Hawke said sternly.

"This isn't your call Hawke, back off."

"No, this is why we didn't join up with the Red Irons. We never wanted to kill people," Hawke said forcefully. Carver put a hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

"He was going to get us shipped off to prison and you sent to the Gallows brother," Carver glared angrily towards Meeran, "He asked for this."

"Agreed," Athenril said sharply, running the blade cleanly across Meeran's exposed throat before anyone else could protest. The man's eyes bulged, and he gurgled as he fell to the ground, twitching in pain and obviously trying to scream. Hawke turned away, unable to watch.

Athenril waited till he bled out before speaking again, "Now we can leave," she said quietly. She walked away briskly, not waiting for any of their reactions.

Hawke stared after her angrily. Athenril had just made him a murderer. His hands were shaking.

A hand lightly came to rest on his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Aveline standing next to him. "Sometimes, we don't have a choice," she told him quietly.

"There was a choice," Hawke said curtly.

Aveline nodded, "But we weren't in a position to make it. Not now," her eyes narrowed as she watched Athenril. Carver was following her to the lift, "In six months, we'll be free of that bitch, and you can do whatever you want when mercenaries threaten to sell you out to the Templars."

Hawke chuckled before allowing his eyes to return to the slew of bodies around them, "I suppose we ought to do something about these," he muttered darkly.

**Later: Outside Gamlen's Hovel:**

Hawke strolled up to the house casually. After dealing with all those bodies he was more than ready for a shower-even if he had to heat the water with magic himself, and he was still sore head to toe from his scuffle with Carver at the Hanged Man. Yes, a shower was definitely on the agenda. His eyebrows furrowed together as he saw Carver sitting on the steps leading up to the hovel.

Carver stood when he saw Hawke approach, "Mother and Gamlen are having it out about the family fortune again," he smiled tightly. "Happy birthday," he muttered.

"Indeed," Hawke agreed, sliding down the wall to the ground. Carver joined him silently, biting back a grimace as he sat. Hawke tried not to grin; Carver was no doubt feeling that kick to the stomach from earlier; which was good, since he was pretty sure the punch Carver had landed on his lip was going to scar. They were silent for a long time, listening to the faint sounds of screaming from inside the hovel.

"I miss her," Carver said quietly.

Hawke swallowed down a painful lump in his throat, "Me too," he admitted, his voice just as low.

Silence settled over them again; it was neither uncomfortable nor particularly comfortable. They heard a door slam loudly from inside the house; Hawke winced. They both missed Bethany, and for today at least, maybe the accusation that it was all his fault could be forgotten.

"I did get you something you know," Hawke said finally.

Carver turned to his brother slowly, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not another black eye. Don't worry," he added with a cocky smile as he dug his hand into his pocket.

"Another black eye? Do either of my eyes look black to you?" Carver bitched good naturedly, a small grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

Hawke grinned and tossed the small item to his brother. "Happy Birthday brother."

Carver turned the item over in his hands inspecting it, "A ring?...It has the Amell crest on it," he ran his fingers over the small engravings slowly.

"It was grandfathers," Hawke shrugged.

"How do you know?"

"The engraving," Hawke pointed towards the inside of the band, "It's supposed to bring whoever wears it strength," Hawke grinned, "I saw it and thought of you. Figured you could use a little extra help since you insist on carrying a weapon twice your size."

"Where'd you find this?"

Hawke shrugged. Carver didn't need to know about the pawnshop in Darktown that seemed to have an entire room devoted to Amell family trinkets Gamlen had sold off to pay back debts.

"It was just lying in a crate," he lied.

"A crate?"

"What, you don't go rummaging through crates in your spare time?" Hawke scoffed, teasingly, " No wonder we're still poor."

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><p><em>Ok...I always felt like it was a huge plothole that Gamlen could announce that you were an apostate and the one who doesn't get your business just...doesn't do anything with that knowledge. <em>

_As you can see, I like to reward reviews with quick updates. See!_


	6. Things that Make the World Go 'Round

_I've officially started writing the Act I chapters...it's sucha tricky balancing act between needed plot progression and character moments. But the chapters should still keep coming quickly with reviews! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this!_

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><p>"Tomwise!" Hawke grinned as he slowed to a jog next to the elven merchant. "I believe Athenril owed you this," he threw the shorter man a pouch of coin.<p>

Tomwsie smiled, "Thank you Hawke, glad I could be of service," the elf bowed slightly. Hawke returned the gesture and turned to leave. "You sure you don't want to stick around Hawke? Wait out the storm here? It's a nasty one," Tomwise smiled politely.

Hawke grinned, "I'd rather take my chances with the rain then with the smell of Darktown Tomwise."

Tomwise chuckled, "You've been running round here for nine months and still aren't use to it? Serah, I think your nose is much too delicate-especially for your line of work."

Hawke laughed, "Yes it most definitely is, and don't get me started on the smell of potions and all those foul concoctions I'm always working around," he added.

"Oh, that reminds me, your shipment came in," Tomwise pulled a box out from his counter.

Hawke smiled sadly as he accepted it, paying Tomwise the silver.

"That's the second order you've placed in as many months ," Tomwise said, watching Hawke's face closely.

Hawke laughed off Tomwise's worry. "Then just be glad I give you so much business," Hawke smiled.

Tomwise nodded, "Fair enough," he agreed. "You should know though…Knight-Commander Meredith has been cracking down on Lyrium shipments…it's harder and harder to get a hold of."

Hawke blinked and narrowed his eyes, "Are you saying this is going to cost me more than we agreed on?"

Tomwsie raised his hands defensively, "No, of course not Hawke. I would never do that; being in Darktown doesn't mean that by default you have no honor…"

"It's just a common side effect," Hawke finished, smiling wryly.

"Exactly," Tomwise smiled, "I'm just saying it might be more difficult to procure in the future…use this batch slowly, yah?"

A flash of lightning illuminated the dark mineshaft, followed by an earth shattering clap of thunder.

"I should go Tomwise…before this place floods," he added with a wry smile. "I have a date to keep anyway," he added.

"Of course Hawke."

**Hightown: Night:**

Hawke shivered as he ran through the streets of Hightown. Why his vest couldn't have sleeves on it was anyone's guess. The rain was pouring down hard enough that it actually stung, like a thousand needles attacking the skin at once. The streets were completely abandoned, the guards -and more surprisingly the criminals-were nowhere to be seen. Typically, bad weather brought out Kirkwall's worst element. It seemed even the criminal element had found their limit in the nights storm.

He arrived at the Blooming Rose well after midnight. Standing in the doorway he shook his head like a dog, expelling as much water from his unruly black hair as he could-earning more than a few glares from the nobles drinking in the lobby.

Grinning, if only to further annoy the rich patrons, Hawke ducked into the kitchen.

"Hawke! I didn't think you'd make it," Elegant's hands snaked around his waist before jumping back, "Maker, you're wet!"

"Well I did just run through Hightown to get here," Hawke smiled, turning around to look at her.

She grinned mischievously, "I think…we need to get you upstairs and out of all those wet clothes."

Hawke laughed, "That's a good line. How many times did you use it today?"

"Just once or twice," she murmured, "And I only meant it this time," she added in a purr.

"I'll bet," Hawke murmured, closing the gap between himself and Elegant.

"We should move this to my room," she whispered.

"I agree," Hawke added quietly, his lips inches from hers.

They darted up the stairs. The door to the bedroom was barely closed before Elegant's lips were on his again, her hands peeling away the soaked layers of his clothes which hit the ground with a slap. Her hands went for his belt, tugging it away quickly, and Hawke turned, hoisting her into the air so she could lock her legs around his waist. He pinned her against the door, attaching his mouth to her collar bone.

"You're so much better at this than when we started," she whispered, gasping out as his tongue flickered across her neck.

"I've had an excellent teacher," he whispered, his breathe hot against her ear.

**Lowtown: Night:**

"Do we really have to go get him?" Carver grumbled, shivering as he followed Aveline through Lowtown. Maker, she walked fast.

"Athenril's orders, not mine," the red head shrugged. "But any excuse to pull your brother from that whore is a good one," she added.

Carver chuckled, "She doesn't sleep with him for money you know."

Aveline shot the younger Hawke an angry glare over her shoulder.

"Right, that doesn't make it any better," Carver muttered; he'd heard Aveline's opinion on the arrangement more than once.

Aveline sighed. She'd spent months trying to convince Hawke to end his fling with the brothel maiden but she hadn't been successful. Hawke deserved better; a stable, more meaningful relationship, not this meaningless empty lust. Her eyes again settled on Carver; with family like Carver, Gamlen, and Leandra to go home to however, it was no wonder Hawke hid away with Elegant. Elegant at least, didn't act like every misfortune in Kirkwall was his fault.

They entered the brothel shivering from the cold and rain. Carver shook his head, shaking the water from his matted hair. Aveline glared at him. "Must you do that?"

"I was wet!"

Aveline glanced around the brothel at the wealthy patrons sitting in the lobby. "You're acting like a wet dog," she hissed. The Fereldan stereotype was hard to escape.

"Hey!" Carver grumbled.

Aveline turned to the nearest hostess, "Where is he?" she demanded quietly. The staff was more than use to Aveline traipsing in to drag Hawke out of the brothel for business, and the woman pointed her to the room.

She took the stairs two at a time; coming to find Hawke was already going to make them late. She flung open the door and Carver screamed.

"Maker, put some clothes on!" he cringed and spun, exiting the room.

Aveline stared at the whore in the bed wide eyed as Hawke shouted in alarm and rolled off the bed.

"Aveline! What are you doing here," Hawke grumbled, grabbing for his pants. Stumbling over his boots, he began to hop into his trousers.

"Hello Aveline," Elegant greeted awkwardly.

"I…did not know…that was….possible," Aveline admitted, staring at the spot the couple had been at when she'd entered.

Hawke grinned, "Before tonight neither did I." He sighed, "Why are you here Aveline?"

"Athenril wants us down at the docks," Aveline said finally snapping from her trance and getting back to business.

Hawke frowned as he threaded his belt through the pant loops, "What could possibly be going on at this hour that she needs us for?"

"A ship crashed in the storm. Rumor is that it's a Quanari warship. Apparently there could be something valuable among the wreckage," Aveline explained, pulling a face as she mentioned the idea of looting. Even after all these months, their work had never sat well with her.

"Maker," Hawke sighed, reaching for his still soaked vest, "So, what? We're supposed to wade into the water, scavenging the wreckage?"

"It would appear so," Aveline replied.

Hawke groaned and turned to Elegant, "Well Elegant, next time you see me I'll probably be missing a toe…or an entire limb…" he leaned over, kissing her tenderly.

"We'll just have to get creative then," she smiled suggestively.

"Maker, I think you've gotten creative enough," Carver yelled from his position in the hallway, "Can we go now? Please."

**Docks: Night:**

"Oh look, I found another fork," Hawke declared, his teeth chattering. "Athenril, do you think we can use this fork for something dastardly?"

"Shut up Hawke," Athenril scolded, her teeth chattering as well. "We wouldn't be here if it was up to me. Orders came down from higher authorities, so just be quiet and keep looking," she ordered, hissing as she plunged her arm into the icy water. "Andrastes' ass, another fork," she muttered, throwing the cheap wooden object onto the beach, along with the other assorted junk they'd found.

"How bout… a little break…and…fire," Carver bit out, his teeth and body shaking so hard he could barely be understood.

"I second that," Aveline said quietly.

Athenril nodded. "Five minutes," she conceded. "…Maybe ten."

The group trudged through the greenish water to the beach, their bare feet shriveled and blue, as the rain continued to beat down on them.

"We'll never get a real fire going in this," Athenril grumbled, "Hawke."

Hawke nodded, rubbing his hands together to dry them. He closed his eyes, allowing the magic to flow from deep within him, and he produced a small flame, delicately hovering over his palm.

All four of them moaned in appreciation as the warmth hit their faces. Carver quickly stuck his hands near the flames and began to rub them together frantically.

"Hey, you there," a stern voice said suddenly, "What're you doing out here at this hour?"

Hawke instantly doused the flame as the group spun around. A templar was standing on the edge of the dock looking down on them, his arms folded across his chest.

"We were just leaving Messere," Athenril said calmly. Hawke felt his mouth run dry. The Templar had seen the flame, knew that he was a mage…he felt Carver and Aveline tense besides him, and suddenly, he found himself almost blocked from view, with both of the warriors standing between him and the potential jailor.

"How'd you get a fire going in this weather?" The Templar challenged, his arms unfolding slowly, reaching towards his sword.

"Happened to find a dry piece of wood. Not that it stayed that way for long," Athenril smiled calmly, her hands at her side. Though the Templar could not see it, Hawke could see her long elven fingers fondling the butt of a knife hidden in her belt.

The Templar sneered, "You're lootin'. Get your asses out of here you Lowtown refuse." They scurried up onto the dock and hurried away from the Templar. He watched them until they were halfway down the block.

"Lowtown refuse?" Carver chuckled once they were out of ear shot.

"Yes, well they haven't found an effective way of combining the endearments' knife-ears ' and 'Fereldan Dogs' just yet," Hawke supplied glibly.

Athenril chuckled, "I'm sure we'll be the first to know when they do," her expression darkened, "I have to go report our lack of findings to the higher ups," she nodded curtly and jogged off down a dark alley.

Carver sneezed loudly.

"I think it would be best if we all got to a real fire," Carver sneezed again, a short, high pitched noise," And soon," Hawke added with a smile.

"Agreed," Aveline shivered. "Good thing Gamlen's isn't far," she added, running her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to generate a modicum of warmth in her body.

**Gamlen's House: Later that Night:**

Hawke shivered and lit another small fireball in his palm, using it to bring the circulation back to his hands. Shep was laying across his lap; the Mabari's incredible weight was doing a good job of warming Hawke up but the creatures weight was also immensely painful. Aveline lay against the wall of the hovel shivering in a blanket. Carver removed his own blanket, rising to add another log to the fire. A knock on the door startled all of them.

"Hawke, it's Athenril, let me in," she ordered, banging on the door again.

Shep jumped from Hawke's lap, allowing him to move to the door quickly. The elven smuggler slid through the door the second he'd turned the latch.

"This Blgihted storm won't let up," she muttered, swiping some of the water from her face, before turning fully to Hawke, "That Templar wasn't at the dock by accident Hawke. I saw him talking to Brekker."

"What business could a Templar have with the Coterie?" Aveline asked as she stood to join them, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Athenril chuckled, "Plenty if the Coterie are lining his pockets," she muttered. "We've been closing in on the Coterie territory for months, taking their contracts, their shipments. They know we employ apostates…I think Brekker spotted us and tipped off the Templar that there was an apostate hanging around the docks," she explained quietly.

"Wait just a minute, when we joined you, you said you could keep the Templar's off our backs," Carver chimed in angrily, pointing a finger towards Athenril accusingly.

"We can. I can…but…Hawke…you can't stay here…you need to disappear for a little bit," Athenril admitted slowly, knowing Hawke wouldn't react well.

He didn't. Hawke bristled and crossed his arms over his chest, "And where exactly am I supposed to disappear to?"

"Gwaren."

"Gwaren? No, I just came from there," Hawke said, his dark eyebrows knitting together angrily.

"We have some business interests over there. They could use your particular type of help, and you need to avoid Kirkwall Templars for a while," Athenril explained calmly. Between this and the incident a few months earlier with Meeran, keeping Hawke in the city was going to be more trouble than it was worth for at least a little while. He was drawing more attention then she'd predicted.

"The whole reason I-we're-working for you is because you were supposed to be able to get us into the city-and keep us here," Hawke seethed, his deep blue eyes swirling with anger.

Athenril sighed and grit her teeth, "Look, if you'd prefer to get hauled off The Gallows then you're more than welcome to-as soon as your year working for me is up." Hawke remained silent, his jaw flexing angrily. "It won't be for long. Two months, three at the most," she promised.

"What about me?" Carver asked uncertainly.

"You'll be staying here."

"What? No, I should be with my Brother-"

"You're not going," Athenril said, crossing her arms and glaring at Carver in a way he knew meant 'back off'. "I don't plan on letting the two of you jump ship together. I know Hawke will come back if his family's all right here."

Hawke glared at her silently.

"Your ship leaves in the morning," Athenril said sharply. She turned on her heels, slamming the door on her way out.

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><p><em>My explanation for this (because I do feel it deserves and explanation) has two parts:<em>

_1. They skip a year and then when you are brought back, everyone you meet acts like they haven't seen you in forever (Worthy, Tomwise, and Elegant are prime examples-plus, you have to fidn your house. I know its just so the player doesn't feel lost, but well this is a story. So there hasta be a story reason for it in my mind. ) And I feel like smuggling might invovle going between cities a bit._

_2. Wait and See. ;)_

_The year of indentured servitude is rapidily coming to an end! The companions will be here soon! (Crap...I hope I can get their voices right...grr) Anyways..._

_Enjoy and Review!_


	7. There and Back Again

_Sometimes...(I am sad to say)...life interfers with my hobby. :/ ...that and I'm marathoning LOST with a friend...*cough*_

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><p>Enjoying the feel of the wind on his face, Hawke allowed himself to smile. He never thought he'd be happy to see the Gallows in the distance, but after over two months in Gwaren he had found himself almost homesick for the smelly little shack that had become his home. Almost.<p>

Being back in Fereldan had been strange. Gwaren wasn't home; didn't feel like home. Gwaren was so remote that it barely even felt like it was part of the same country as Lothering. The Blight seemed to have ignored the port city completely; the only reminder of the constant danger the nation faced were the throngs of refugees who were still arriving daily as more and more of the continent was ravaged by the darkspawn. Hope had seemed all but lost in the city until mere weeks before Hawke had left. Whispered rumors spoke of the few surviving Grey Wardens from the Battle of Ostagar heading towards Denerim to confront Teyrn Loghain, the new self appointed King of Fereldan-and as Carver told it, traitor to The Crown. Apparently one of the Grey Warden's was even King Maric's illegitimate son. But only days after that rumor began circulating, the largest wave of refugees yet entered the city; Redcliffe had been overrun by the Blight.

Hawke ran his hand through his hair; he wanted to believe Fereldan could still be saved, but the fate of the country seemed to depend solely on two individual Grey Wardens, who were being opposed in their efforts on every front. He didn't envy their position, not one bit.

He sighed, and jumped down from the bow of the ship, forcing himself to focus on things that were within his control. When he landed in Kirkwall his debt to Athenril would be nearly paid. Then he, Aveline, and Carver would all be free. They would no longer be low life smugglers. They'd just be unemployed Fereldan refugees. He found the idea of unemployment vastly superior to being forced into a criminal existence.

"Well Hawke, again, it has been a pleasure sailing with you," a booming voice declared, slapping Hawke on the back.

Hawke smiled, "The same to you Bellick," Hawke extended his hand and shook the burly sailor's hand.

Bellick laughed, "One of these days, you're going to be more than a passenger on my ship Hawke, I promise."

"I think with all this back and forth I've hit my limit for sailing in this lifetime," Hawke admitted with a polite grin.

Bellick chuckled, "Well you're still better than my son-in-law," he gestured to the positively green looking sailor breathing heavily over the side of the deck.

Hawke bit back a grin, "Well at least he's stopped vomiting; that's certainly an improvement," he offered earnestly.

Bellick's lips pulled back into an even larger grin, revealing two rows of crooked teeth, "He only stopped puking the other week," Bellick's belly shook as he laughed. He clapped Hawke on the shoulder again, "You've been good company Hawke. If you need anything, you just give me a holler, ya hear?"

Hawke smiled, "I appreciate that Bellick."

**Kirkwall:**

Hawke heaved his rucksack over his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of land under his feet again. He had no real desire to sail back to Gwaren ever again and hopefully with freedom so close, he wouldn't have to.

He inhaled deeply and coughed, the wind was blowing the stench of Darktown up onto the dock. He had not missed that, not one bit. Eager to get away from the foul smell of sewage, he jogged through the dock yard. He was almost out of the dock when he froze, forced to do a double take.

Standing easily over six feet tall, a pale skinned creature with angry red tattoos covering its entire chest was guarding the entrance to a blocked off section of the dock. The thing had horns-really really big ones. Hawke cocked his head to the side. Though he'd never seen a true Quanari-the one who'd been locked up in Lothering had been one of the rarer hornless ones-he knew what they were supposed to look like. They were even creepier in person than they were in the tales, and definitely as intimidating.

He remembered the night before he'd been shipped to Gwaren that a Quanari warship had crashed off the Wounded Coast but…surely those same Quanari couldn't still be here. There was no way the Viscount would allow that. Running his hand through his messy, now windswept, hair he sighed. He would just have to ask Carver about it when he got home.

He took the stairs to Lowtown two at a time, making sure to avoid the alienage-that was not a place a human wanted to go, especially not alone.

The market's of Lowtown were booming. It was a beautiful sunny day, which made it perfect for peddling. He strolled through the streets, listening with increasing amusement to the vendor's attempts to attract customers. He chuckled as one vendor started screaming about fixing men's 'limp masts'.

His eyes froze as they locked on to one particular vendor. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair. Cocking his head he approached her with a smile.

"My my, if it isn't Hawke," Elegant allowed a begrudging smile to tug at her lips.

"Good to see you again Elegant," Hawke nodded politely. He realized, at that very moment, that he'd never actually told her he was leaving town two months ago. Oops.

She smiled, "Lady Elegant now, if you don't mind. I'm a married woman these days," she brushed her hair away from her face, subtly showing off the small jewel adorning her ring finger.

He smiled, "Congratulations," he offered sincerely, bowing his head slightly.

She stared at him for a moment, "Last time I saw you, you were working for that smuggler Athenril. Are you still indentured to her?"

"I'll be an unemployed man by week's end I'm afraid," he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

She chuckled, "You're idea of what made the glass half full always was a little…different Hawke," she smiled at him warmly. "Well, since I highly doubt you'll suddenly stop getting into trouble just because you're free, stop by anytime. I'm sure you'll be in need of some concoctions soon enough yes? I'd be more than happy to help you out," her smile faded and she hesitated, "However, that…other…part of our relationship is off the table."

Hawke smiled, "I would certainly hope so Lady Elegant." He might be a Lowtown smuggler, but that didn't mean he would tarnish what little honor he was still allotted by sleeping with a married woman.

"Same old Hawke," Elegant mused, "Still carrying around that odd sense of nobility." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, "I had to say that, I'm sorry, I've had a number of my former clients come here, harassing me; I've had to call the guard on more than one," her smile turned wry, "That becomes a bit problematic though when your former clients are guards."

"Well, I wasn't a client, but you don't have to worry about me harassing you," he assured her. "Take care Ele-…Lady Elegant," he said sincerely, giving her a slight wave as he departed. He sighed heavily as he strode away, kicking at the dirt, "Well, I'll probably never see her again," he muttered. They'd had a good run. But he was happy for her. Their relationship had always lacked…substance…anyway.

He continued through Lowtown, selling off a few pieces of junk he'd acquired during his stay in Gwaren, before heading towards Gamlen's hovel. To his surprise, the trinkets had ended up being of significantly greater value then he'd anticipated. His face split into a huge toothy grin as he realized exactly what to do with the coin he'd just made.

He entered his neighborhood and jogged up the stairs towards the hovel. Hawke rapped his knuckles against the flimsy wooden door to the house and listened to the shuffle of activity as footsteps headed towards the door.

"If its McMorrow, don't let him in. Tell him I'm not here. I can't pay him!" Gamlen's angry and obviously drunk voice hollered loudly.

Carver opened the door.

"When McMorrow comes around, Gamlen might want to try keeping his voice down," Hawke said dryly.

Carver grinned, "That is his quiet voice if you can believe it."

"Oh I can believe it," Hawke chuckled. Carver had made a joke! An actual joke. The wonders of the day would never cease.

Carver opened the door wider, letting his brother back into the small hovel.

"Well look who it is," Gamlen sneered, "Another mouth to feed," he muttered something else under his breath and staggered drunkenly into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Hawke rolled his eyes; that was about the reaction he'd expected of his uncle. Sighing in exhaustion, he dropped his rucksack to the floor before turning back to Carver.

"Where's mother?"

"She's taking the dog for a walk," Carver explained. " I'm surprised you didn't see her, she usually goes by the docks," he added after an awkward pause.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Carver scratched behind his ear.

"Should we uh, hug, or something?" Carver said nervously, crossing his arms across his chest.

Hawke grinned wryly, "No, uncomfortable silences are definitely more us."

Carver rolled his eyes, "Right. Now I remember why it took over a month for me to start missing you," he muttered. And…the wonders of the day ceased.

Hawke remained unfazed, grin firmly in place, "But you did miss me little brother," he said the term of endearment with a slight edge to it, "And that's all that matters," his warm smile was offset by the mischievous glint in his eye.

Carver made a scoffing sound, "I've spent the last two months without your shadow over me," he sneered, "I'm not eager to forget what the sun looks like again."

"Could try looking outside, it is a lovely day," Hawke offered innocently.

"Just shut up," Carver muttered, moving towards his sword. He hoisted it onto his back and tied a leather strap around his chest to keep it in place. "Well, we best be off. I'm sure Athenril will want to know that you've returned."

"Yes we should go see Athenril, but not for the reason you think," Hawke grinned, pulling his coin purse from his pocket. He swung it by its string, letting Carver hear the jingle of coins within. "We're paying her off. For the three of us. Ending this servitude a little early."

Carver's eyes got wide. "How did you get that kind of coin?"

Hawke shrugged, "I stumbled across a little bit of valuable loot in Gwaren. Just sold it on my way in; for more coin than I expected." His expression darkened, "And I have no intention of working for Athenril a moment longer."

Carver grinned, "I can't wait to see the look on her face when you throw this to her."

Hawke laughed, "I'm positively giddy," he admitted wryly. "Let's go."

**Hightown:**

"Athenril," Hawke greeted cheerfully as he approached the smuggler near The Blooming Rose.

"Ah Hawke! It's good to see you back," Athenril returned, nodding happily, "We have some important work to do, I'm glad you returned when you did."

Hawke chuckled, "I'm afraid we won't be helping you with that Athenril," he gestured to himself and his brother, "And neither will Aveline."

Athenril cocked her head to the side uncertainly, her nose curling slightly, "What do you mean?"

He tossed her the sack of coin, which she deftly caught. "That's what's left of the debt we owed you for getting us into the city," he said lightly, watching as she empty the purse into her hand, counting the coin. "We're even," Hawke added darkly, staring straight at her.

Athenril's jaw clenched angrily. "You really think you'll find a better job on your own Hawke?" she laughed humorlessly.

"I'm willing to take my chances," Hawke said, his voice still low, almost dangerous.

"Good luck taking care of the Templars on your own," she chuckled. His expression darkened, and he was quickly next to her, the small knife he kept on his belt in his hand. He held the tip inches away from her stomach.

"What exactly are you implying?" he questioned sternly, staring her straight in the eye. Was she planning on blackmailing them like Meeran had tried to do?

"Nothing Hawke," Athenril seemed unfazed by the knife-she knew he wouldn't use it-, "It's just the truth. You need coin to make the Templars look the other way. The incidents with Meeran and that Templar on the dock weren't the only times that the Templars started sniffing around our business; just the ones that got bad. Without us to protect you though, you won't be able to make them just disappear."

His jaw clenched, "I'd still rather take my chances," he said evenly, pulling back, discretely slipping the knife back into his belt.

He spun on his heel sharply, walking away from the congregation of smugglers. Carver fell instep next to him.

"Well, at least everything ended on a pleasant note," Hawke commented dryly.

Carver grunted. "She's right though. If the Templars come looking for you…" Carver said nervously.

Hawke smiled; every once in a while Carver acted like a real brother. "We'll figure something out," Hawke promised.

"Good. Because I am sick of running from your Templars," Carver muttered.

Hawke rolled his eyes; and then Carver acted like himself and everything was right in the world again.

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><p><em>Not much to say. One more chapter before Act 1 begins! I'm excited to really be getting into things. I feel like the plot is more cohesive as a story than it felt in the game, which will hopefully be conveyed in this fic, as that is one of my goals. We shall see I suppose. <em>

_Enjoy and Review!_


	8. Hero's Riot

Next Chapter Act I begins!

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><p>"Rise and shine sunshine," Hawke said glibly, pulling the paper thin blanket from his brothers bed.<p>

Carver groaned and rolled over, his back to Hawke, "How are you able to stand? I'm starving, aren't you starving?"

"Of course I'm starving, we all are. That's why you need to get up," Hawke rolled his eyes as Carver moaned.

"Maybe we should go talk to Athenril," Carver whispered.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, "Let's try to make it at least a month before we go crawling back to hand her the last of our dignity," he retorted, his tone stating that that was clearly not an option.

Carver muttered something unflattering under his breath before grudgingly swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Pushing off the bed, he landed lightly on his feet.

Hawke began buttoning his vest.

"Aveline's application to the guard went through, did you hear?" Carver said idly as he laced up his boots.

Hawke nodded.

"Maybe I should try for that. It's not much of a salary, but I'd be sleeping at the barracks," he made a face, "It'd smell better at any rate."

**Lowtown:**

The sun beating down on Lowtown was excruciating. People were moving sluggishly in the heat, and the scalding heat was making the typical stench of the slums even worse. Hawke brought his hand to his face to block it; his nose really was too sensitive for this city.

"Maker, I don't think anyone in this town bathes," Carver grumbled. Ignoring his brother, Hawke increased his pace; the best thing they could do on days like this was try and beat the crowds. There were thousands of Fereldans still without work and everyday all of them came looking for any short term labor for any small amount of coin they could get. And the best place to find out about the potential jobs of the day was the Hanged Man.

Hawke entered the Hanged Man and instantly walked up to Coriff, who was tending the bar; catering to the very early- and the very very late-crowd.

"Hawke," Coriff nodded.

"What's the word Coriff?"

"Rumor is a merchant named Hubert is hiring up in Hightown," Coriff said in a low voice, "I just sent a lot up that way though, so you best hurry."

**Hightown:**

"I need a few dozen of you. No more!" A merchant, presumably Hubert, was screaming. His thick Orlesian accent gave Hawke the nearly irresistible urge to giggle. "No! NO more!" The refugee's crowded around Hubert begging for work were yelling and pleading with the merchant who was picking the strongest looking men from the herd.

Carver noticed Hubert's choice of laborers. "We have a decent shot at this, we should-"

"No."

"What? No? You're the one that brought us up here. We need money brother, we can't just-"

"Carver, just this once, try using your head. You've heard of the Bone Pit," Hawke sighed. Mother would kill him if Carver ended up working there. More than a handful of desperate workers had already died in various freak accidents in that mine. It wasn't worth the risk, not for the petty coin being offered.

"So?"

"It's run by an Orlesian; that's probably what this Hubert fellow is hiring for."

"Well I don't know about you, but I don't intend to starve," Carver huffed angrily, marching towards the cluster of refugee's.

Hawke grabbed his brother's arm tightly, "We aren't working there," he said evenly.

Carver glared at him for a long moment, his eyes dancing furiously, "Fine," he yanked his arm away.

Hawke rolled his eyes and moved to follow his temperamental little brother when a flier caught his eye. "Skilled Help Needed for Deep Roads Expedition." As he continued to read his eyebrows shot up; they were paying exceptionally well.

"Carver!" Hawke ripped the flier from the wall and jogged to catch up with his brother. He handed the flier to his brother.

Carver took one glance at it and wheeled on Hawke, "You won't want us to work for the Bone Pit so you'd send us to the Deep Roads? Darkspawn are less dangerous than us doing honest work?" Carver's jaw clenched.

"Look at what they're offering," he pointed to the salary.

Carver's eyebrows shot up as well, "Oh. That's…generous," he cocked his head, "Especially for a dwarf," he added quietly.

"It's enough that we could buy our own smelly little shack. Get out of Gamlen's once and for all," Hawke said, running the calculation through his head quickly. "Not to mention the coin we could make selling off the junk we found down there."

Carver pursed his lip, shifting from foot to foot, "I…don't know about this. It's the Deep Roads. I don't know about you, but I still remember Lothering brother," the ever present accusation about Bethany lay just below the surface of his words.

Hawke's jaw clenched, "I remember just fine," he said icily, "But the fact that we fought Darkspawn and survived is what makes us perfect for this job."

"Mother won't like this," Carver added.

"Probably not, no," Hawke conceded.

"You just returned from Gwaren…let's see if we can't find work around here," Carver said finally.

The day past uneventfully as the brothers yet again failed to find work.

"What a waste," Carver muttered as they entered the Hanged Man hours later. "We can't keep this up much longer Garrett." Carver ran a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. They were so distracted they didn't immediately notice the large crowd in the pub.

"Three cheers for the Hero of Fereldan!" Men were cheering and clinking their glasses excitedly.

Hawke frowned. "Hero of Fereldan? Last I heard we were still the refugee scum of Fereldan…," He saw Coriff at the bar, "Coriff, what's this now?"

Coriff was grinning excitedly, "You haven't heard mate? The Blight is over!" The Fereldans in the pub, as scraggly and downtrodden as they typically were, looked elated. They were dancing around joyously, the alcohol in their mugs sloshing over the rim as they ran around in giddy elation.

"A round on me!" one joyous patron announced, flinging the necessary coin happily in Coriff's direction. The whole pub exploded into another round of celebration.

"Brother, maybe we can finally go home," Carver said excitedly, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

"I don't know about that," Hawke muttered, grabbing their free drinks. Even if Fereldan survived, Lothering was gone-their home was still gone. He handed one of the mugs to his brother, "But at least the Blight is over," they clinked their mugs together happily.

"To Fereldan," Carver declared.

"To Fereldan," Hawke agreed, sipping his drink slowly. They didn't have the coin for a second round.

"Thank the Maker," a loud voice declared, "The sooner you refugees get out of our city the better. Everything is starting to stink of wet dog," a man sneered, taking a sip of his drink. His buddies laughed and clapped the speaker happily on his back.

All the Fereldan's fell silent.

A burly Fereldan with a mustache stood up slowly, approaching the speakers table. The group of Kirkwall thugs rose as well. "Say that again," the Fereldan challenged, his voice low and threatening.

"Your lot needs to go back to your own blighted country," the man sneered again.

"Oh shit," Hawke whispered. He could see where this was going. Maker not again.

The brawl erupted quickly, with the burly Fereldan throwing the first punch at the Kirkwall thug. Soon everyone in the pub was throwing punch after punch at the nearest person they could find.

Quickly a thug, his nose bleeding profusely, came towards the two of them, taking a wild, drunken swing which easily missed both brothers. Carver moved left, and made the mistake of bumping into an even larger patron. The man snarled and took a swing, which landed squarely on Carver's jaw.

Hawke grabbed his brother, keeping Carver from falling over a table as he spun around dizzily, and kicked the large man's knee cap forcefully. The man screamed and buckled over in pain. People were grabbing fistfuls of other's shirts, punching and kicking at anything that moved. The group of men soon formed a tight ball, everyone locked in with everyone else.

Hawke felt a hand grab his shoulder. He was spun around by a viscous looking bald man, who pulled his arm back to take a swing. Hawke quickly brought his leg up into the man's stomach. The man groaned and feel towards Hawke. Grabbing hold of Hawke's shirt the man threw him back towards the main body of the mob.

"Brother!" Carver yelled, diving in after his elder sibling.

The mob pushed and pulled against each other, clawing and tearing like animals, and the herd soon toppled through the door of the pub out onto the streets. They slammed into merchants tents, dragging more people into the fray.

"For Fereldan!" one man shouted drunkly. It soon became the mobs chant.

Hawke pushed his way to the edge of the horde, elbowing and punching as he went. He received a hard elbow to his nose, and he winced in pain, able to hear the bone crack loudly despite the screaming and chaos around him. Giving one final shove he broke free of the mob and Hawke fell to his knees in the dirt, holding his nose.

Guards began racing towards the mob, shouting, screaming, tearing people off one another. Hawke realized, with equal parts terror and amusement, that most of Lowtown was now involved in the scuffle.

"Hawke, what on earth is going on?" Aveline's voice startled him and he spun to look up at her. She was wearing her guards uniform.

He smiled up to her and blood trickled into his mouth, "I promise, we didn't start anything this time Aveline," he said cheekily. She hoisted him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. Maker she was strong.

"Just…stay back," she rolled her eyes. He was utterly hopeless.

Hawke watched as Aveline charged into the fray. She quickly pulled Carver out of the dog pile by his collar and flung him unceremoniously towards his brother.

"Maker, she's terrifying," Carver muttered, wiping at his face which was covered in cuts, dirt, and alcohol.

The guards involvement only served to rile up the crowd into an even greater frenzy, and for every person the guards pulled from the fray, two more seemed to leap into it.

The fight was getting more brutal, people were stumbling away, cradling various injured extremities.

A scream cut through all the noise and everyone paused, turning towards the sound of the agonized cry. The source of the sound was a man, a blade was sticking out of his stomach. As he slipped to the ground, a terrified looking guard became visible, his sword stained red with a scream the crowd turned its attention to the guards, attacking them with everything they had. Those closest attacked with their fist, others were throwing stones and picking up anything they could to use to beat the guards.

Aveline was at the heart of things, sticking herself directly in front of the guard who'd killed a rioter. Her shield was holding off the main bulk of attack, but the sheer weight of the mob was starting to push the guards into a corner where they would be completely corner.

Members of the mob began grabbing at weapons from merchants stands, pulling maces and swords from the tables. They reentered the fray swinging the weapons madly towards the guards.

"We need to get back in there and help!" Carver announced, starting to charge back into the fray. Leaping forward Hawke tackled his brother back to the ground.

"I'm not letting you kill yourself that easily," Hawke declared.

He felt the blood pounding in his ears. The rioters were hacking their swords at the guards in a blind rage, oblivious to the people they were injuring each time they pulled their swords back. Aveline lunged forward, bashing the most malicious attacker with her shield; the momentum of her attack threw him to the ground. But it opened Aveline up to another attacker; a man wielding daggers was mere feet away and advancing and Aveline didn't see him. Instinctively Hawke felt magic surged through his body and he raised his hand, shooting a fireball just short of the rioters.

Screams started instantly. "Malificar!" "Apostates!" People fled madly away from the flames. Panicked, Hawke's eyes darted around, looking for witnesses, but no one seemed to be paying him or Carver any attention. The mob morphed into a stampede, slamming the brother's into the ground as people ran madly past them, fearing the lose mage. A strong hand again grabbed him by the collar and he and his brother were heaved back to their feet by a dirty and bloodied Aveline.

"Both of you get home now and do NOT come out until I come and get you," she yelled over the screaming. She left them quickly, returning to the futile effort of attempting to regain order in Lowtown.

**Gamlen's Hovel:**

"And if you'd been caught! Do you know what they would do to us-to me-Maker, they'd lock me up and throw away the key if they knew I housed an apostate!" Gamlen was raving furiously.

"Now that would be unfortunate," Carver muttered, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"Here Carver, for your head," Leandra emerged from the bedroom with a cloth. "Garrett," she turned to him, extending the cloth. Hawke quickly shaped a chunk of ice and lay it in the cloth. Leandra gently applied it to Carver's forehead. He hissed in pain. "I'm just glad you're ok," she said quietly, shooting Gamlen an angry glare.

Gamlen sighed, "I'm just saying, if anyone had seen you-"

"No one did. Everyone was focused on the riot," Hawke assured his uncle.

"Are you sure about that boy?" Gamlen sneered.

Hawke clenched his jaw. No, he wasn't sure. But he'd be damned if he'd let Aveline die because of a little uncertainty.

A knock at the door startled them all.

"It's ok, it's just me," Aveline's muffled voice carried through the door.

Gamlen moved to let her in. As she brushed by him Gamlen closed the door slowly, his eyes darting around the neighborhood fearfully.

"We have...finally gotten the streets back under control," Aveline said quietly, sinking into an empty chair Leandra offered her. She ran a hand across her neck, wiping away the sweat.

Hawke stared at her quietly, feeling his heart thundering in his chest.

"The word from the Guard Captain is that we are to be particularly vigilant, as there seems to be a…malificar…on the lose in Lowtown," Aveline's smile was bittersweet. "The Templars are increasing their patrols in the area, but they expect that the mage who…caused the riot…will be looking to run." She turned to Hawke, "I'd avoid the docks," she added dryly.

Hawke ran his hand through his matted hair, "I didn't start the riot Aveline."

"He's actually telling the truth this time," Carver added helpfully.

"I know," Aveline admitted, "But the official story is that…blood magic caused the riot. It…sounds better than a bunch of drunken idiots in the Hanged Man decided to have a pissing contest," she scoffed and shrugged.

Hawke clenched his fist; of course, it was all magic's fault. And now he was being pegged as a blood mage.

"They don't seem to have any leads about the apostate," Aveline added. "Not yet anyway. But Hawke, if they find you now-"

"They won't hesitate to make me Tranquil," he finished, running both of his hands through his hair and down his face.

"Maker. It just doesn't stop. We haven't gone more than a few months without almost running into the Templars. It was never this bad in Lothering," Carver chimed in irritably.

"If only we had the estate! The Templars wouldn't do this if we lived in Hightown. They'd take a bribe and be on their way," Leandra added, glaring at Gamlen.

Gamlen sighed, "Well had I known you'd drag your apostate son back into my life maybe I'd have done things differently Leandra," he sneered.

"You should have done things differently anyway Gamlen. It's called quitting while your ahead," she retorted.

Hawke felt his face flush red. Aveline had seen his mother and uncle at their worst more than once, but it never got any easier to have these lovely family discussions open for public viewing.

Aveline smiled sympathetically, "Thank you for having my back out there Hawke," she nodded curtly. Hawke smiled but said nothing; Aveline hated having her ass saved. "But Maker, please never throw a fireball into the middle of a riot again," she added.

Hawke grinned, "No more fireballs. Got it." His expression darkened suddenly and he turned to Carver, "But Mother is right. We need some coin to hide behind."

Carver sighed, "I was afraid you were going to say that," he muttered.

"We need to get in on the Deep Roads expedition that dwarf is putting together. It's the only option," Hawke shrugged.

Carver was silent a long moment, "I don't like it. But…I think you're right," the younger Hawke's jaw clenched and his eyes flashed with resentment, "We need to be able to hide you behind some coin."

Hawke resisted the urge to role his eyes. It was one thing to be one of three mages in the family on the run, but being the only one, it wasn't about protecting the family from Templars anymore, it was just about protecting him. He clenched his fist and inhaled deeply; he was placing an extra burden onto all of them. He shook off the guilt with a cocky smile, "So it's agreed then. We'll go find the dwarf first thing in the morning."

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><p><em>I hate that in the game there never feels like any real threat to your HawkeMage being captured or...anything. :/. Disappointing limitation of the game mechanic...thankfully I'm not working with those same restraints. ;)_

_Enjoy and Review!_


	9. At Your Service

_Sorry this took so long to put up guys. I was struggling with Isabela's introduction (which is next chapter! FINALLY!) and so I held off on publishing this chapter. _

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><p>"Andraste's tits human! Do you know how many people want to hire onto this expedition!" the irritable dwarf, Bartrand, exclaimed.<p>

"Look, we know you're going into the Deep Roads. You'll need to hire the best-" Carver protested.

"No, you're too late. Already done!" The dwarf sneered, "This is the sort of venture that could make a man's life. I'm not about to take any chances hiring random humans," he scoffed. Seeing their faces Bartrand sighed, "You're looking for a quick way out of the slums right? You and every other Fereldan in this dump!"

Carver threw his arms up in exasperation and turned to Hawke, "You make him understand!" he ordered, "We're running from you're bloody Templars," he hissed.

"You'll need the best if you go into the Deep Roads," Hawke offered confidently, choosing to ignore his little brother, "We've fought and killed Darkspawn before. How many of your hired men can say the same?"

"Every Fereldan refudgee in this city is making the same claim. Find another meal ticket," he shrugged and walked away.

"Well," Carver sighed, "Back to waiting for someone to turn us in," he grumbled.

Hawke grinned wryly, "You can relax Carver. After all the Templars dogging us are 'mine'."

Carvers cheeks flushed and he shifted his weight uncomfortably, "Maker, did I sound that bad?"

Hawke sighed; that was probably as close to an apology as he'd get. "No worse than Gamlen, don't worry."

Carver glared at him murderously.

"Let's go," Hawke sighed, "It's not like we can bribe our way onto the expedition," he muttered, running his hand through his wild hair.

"We need to find something. I don't fancy waking up in the Gallows," Carver grumbled.

"Neither does Gamlen," Hawke grinned at his brother, delighting in the way his brother's face reddened angrily.

A young red head boy came jogging through the crowd and slammed into Hawke, his elbow going to straight into Hawke's ribs. Hawke grunted and rubbed his side as the boy continued on without a word of apology. A thought suddenly occurred to Hawke and he lowered his hands, checking where his coin purse was supposed to be. It was missing. His face paled and he spun, chasing after the thief. "Hey, get back here," he yelled, sprinting after the boy.

The boy pulled quickly ahead of him and Carver, quickly slipping down a side street. Hawke swore softly, losing eye contact with the cut purse didn't help his chances of catching up with the thief any. He rounded the corner after the thief sharply, surprised to see the boy pinned to the side of a building, an arrow hooked in his clothes. The boy looked absolutely petrified. A beardless dwarf sauntered up to the thief, hoisting a large crossbow onto his back as he walked.

The dwarf chuckled, "Kid, you don't have the style to work Hightown, let alone the merchants guild," he extended his hand and the boy dropped the coin purse into it without protest. "Might want to find yourself a new line of work," the dwarf punched the boy square in the nose and yanked the arrow from the wall. The boy sank to the ground with a grunt, "Off ya go," the dwarf muttered, chortling to himself happily. Spotting the brothers, the dwarf started towards them, spinning the arrow around his fingers idly.

He lobbed the coin purse back to Hawke, a suave smile etched on his face. "How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service," he introduced himself. "I apologize for Bartrand, he wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw."

Hawke cocked his head skeptically. "But you would?"

"Absolutely! What my brother is too proud to realize is that we need someone like you! I, however, am a paragon of practicality," the dwarf smiled. "See, we don't need another hireling-we need a partner. Bartrand can't fund this expedition on his own, he's been tearing his beard out trying. Invest in the expedition-50 sovereigns- and Bartrand won't be able to refuse; not with me there to vouch for you."

Hawke chuckled, "If I had 50 sovereigns I wouldn't be in this mess. "

Varric continued to smile suavely, "You need to think bigger my friend! Sure as a hireling you'd make a bit of coin, but as a partner? You and your family could be living more than comfortably for life."

Hawke pursed his lips as he scrutinized the dwarf. This offer seemed too good to be true. He wasn't convinced this savvy dwarf wasn't going to cheat them out of their earnings in the end. "Come on, the dwarf makes some sense. Look, you started this-and, it's a good idea," Carver admitted begrudgingly, "It's certainly better than ending up in the Gallows," he added so only Hawke could hear.

Hawke sighed. When push came to shove they didn't have many options other than to take their chances with the dwarf.

Varric seemed to sense Hawke's weakening resolve, "Come on, the two of us work together and you'll have all the capitol you need in no time. What do you say?"

"I certainly don't have a better plan," Hawke admitted lightly, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

"Wonderful!" Varric beamed happily. "Why don't you stop by the Hanged Man tonight, and we'll have a drink to cement this partnership." He waved happily and trotted off.

Carver watched the dwarf's retreating form, "We might have to watch him."

Hawke sighed grimly; their life on the run had made them absurdly paranoid, "Agreed. But it might be unavoidable for him to find out about my…talents…"

Carver sighed, "Maker, we're going to end up in the Gallows," he muttered.

"Well at least they'd feed us there," Hawke offered helpfully.

**Later that Night: The Hanged Man:**

"Hawke!" Varric exclaimed cheerfully as the brothers entered the pub, "And…who are you again?" he asked, turning to Carver.

Carver bristled, "I'm his brother."

"Ah, right," Varric chuckled, seeming to delight in the way Carver's ears turned red almost as much as Hawke did. "Come over to my table, I'll buy you both a drink," he waved for them to follow him.

They sat down and accepted the mugs of ale offered to them.

Despite his happy smile, Varric wasted no time getting right down to business, "So, here's the thing, besides just gathering the coin, Bartrand still hasn't found a good way into the Deep Roads." He took a sip of his ale.

"I figured we just started digging and eventually the ground would just open up. Then bam! Darkspawn," Hawke shrugged.

Varric grinned. "We need a good entrance, one that hasn't been picked over by other expeditions already. Luckily, I've stumbled across some new information. There's a Grey Warden in the city. If anyone knows how to navigate the Deep Roads, it'll be him."

Hawke scratched his chin. "I don't want any trouble with the Wardens," he said slowly, "But maybe if we ask nicely he'll help us," Hawke grinned.

Varric smiled, "Agreed. No trouble, but it can't hurt to ask…unless it does," he shrugged indifferently. "Rumor is the Warden came in with some Fereldan's a few months back. He's been working as a healer in Darktown. A lit lantern supposedly guides those in need to him," Varric added, chugging back the last of his ale.

"A healer? So, he's a mage?" Carver asked, shifting uncomfortably. Maker, all he needed was more magic.

"Probably. The Grey Warden's don't recruit anyone unless they possess some useful talents. Besides, it could be beneficial to have another mage around," Varric explained calmly, flagging the serving girl for another pint.

Blinking in surprise, Hawke leaned towards Varric, "Another mage?"

Varric laughed, "You think I asked you to invest in this expedition without doing my homework? Hawke, you wound me," he kicked his feet up on the table, enjoying the uncomfortable looks the brothers were exchanging. "Working for Athenril you made quite the name for yourself in the underworld this past year….there were…rumors…about your talents. And I investigated," Varric shrugged.

Both brothers' faces were pale. Hawke's jaw clenched; they were yet again at the mercy of someone who could sell them out to the Templars.

"I have no intention of turning you into the hunters," Varric assured them quickly, "In fact, if you were to be detained by them, it would hurt the expedition," Varric set his pint down and leaned in closer, "So, if you do have any trouble with the Templars, let me know," he winked, "I have ways of keeping them...occupied."

Hawke nodded curtly. They didn't have the coin to keep the Templars away themselves, but relying on others for protection had hardly worked so well with Athenril. But there was something about the dwarf Hawke inherently wanted to like…but then again, maybe Varric was just a good salesmen. Only time would tell.

"Well then, maybe we should go find this Grey Warden," Hawke said, standing and stretching.

Varric chuckled, "I like your enthusiasm Hawke," the dwarven merchant finished off his pint, "Let's go."

**Darktown:**

"You know what I love about Darktown? Absolutely nothing," Varric muttered, shaking filth from his boot.

"This hardly seems a sanitary place to run a clinic," Hawke muttered, his eyes flitting quickly around the narrow ally; he'd been jumped here more than once. From the corner of his eye he spotted a low flickering light, "Varric, is that the lantern?"

Varric nodded, "It would certainly seem so."

Hawke led the group towards the clinic slowly. They were dealing with a Grey Warden and mage. Grey Wardens were chosen for their powerful skills; the fact that he was also a mage only made Hawke all the more nervous. Outside of a few practice duels with his father and Bethany, he'd rarely had to actually fight another mage. Hawke hoped he wouldn't be getting practice tonight.

A glowing light flickered from under the door and as they entered Hawke raised an eyebrow. The mage was standing over a young boy, hands glowing. The boy gasped and sat up, color instantly returning to his pale features. Hawke was impressed; healing magic was difficult, and the more complex or serious the illness the more difficult the magic was. It required a very delicate touch. His expression darkened. Bethany had been a very good healer. The mage staggered away from the boy, clearly exhausted by the process.

The Grey Warden spun to them suddenly, "I have made this a place of healing and salvation, why do you threaten it?" His hands glowed ominously, poised to attack.

Hawke looked around at his companions, a confused look on his face, "Uh, we don't." He raised an eyebrow as he watched the mage. What an unusual fellow. "Strange occupation for a Warden. From what I hear Wardens are more about Darkspawn and death than healing and such."

The mage stiffened, "So have the Wardens sent you to bring me back? I'm not going. Those bastards made me give up my cat," the mages face fell, "Poor Ser-Pounce-a-Lot."

Hawke couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face; this mage was exceptionally entertaining. Hawke turned towards Carver, "Why didn't we name you that? You'd have been much cuter," he grinned as Carvers face turned bright red. Carver's buttons were so easy to push it was delightful. Turning back to the Warden he added, "I'm Garret, this is my brother Carver, and this dashing dwarf at my side is Varric," Varric bowed his head," We are here because we're part of an expedition that is planning on heading into the Deep Roads. As a Grey Warden, any information you could provide us with might be extremely valuable-life saving, even."

The mage chuckled hollowly, "Anders. And if I never have to think about the Deep Roads again I'll be a happy man." He sighed and scratched his chin, seeming to contemplate something, "But…I do have some maps that might be of use to you. I could give them to you," Anders stared at Hawke, "But I need you to do something for me; a favor for a favor. Seems fair."

Hawke shifted uncomfortably, "It might be," he agreed, "Depends on the favor."

"I came to Kirkwall to help a friend…a mage. He's a prisoner in the Gallows," Anders nose curled in disgust as he mentioned the tower, "Help me rescue him and you shall have your maps."

"Oh, terrific, just what we need: another mage," Carver added irritably.

Hawke sighed dramatically, unfazed by his brothers continual whining, "I think its best you remember that the only reason I haven't turned you into a toad yet is because I promised mother," he said lightly. Anders bit back a smirk.

Hawke sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "This mage is imprisoned you say?...Is he a blood mage?"

"What? No! Karl would never…," Anders sighed. His eyes darted around the room, as if afraid someone was watching them, "Karl wrote me. The Knight-Commander…she's out of control. Mages-mages that have passed their harrowing-are being made tranquil. Dozens of them," his fist clenched angrily, "Karl is…he's afraid to stay."

"And how is he a prisoner?" Varric asked.

Anders expression darkened, "All mages housed by the Circle are prisoners."

"But that can't be-Mages who have passed their Harrowing are being made Tranquil?" Hawke ran his hand over his face and sighed. Maker, that was bad. Anders nodded gravely.

"So, you tell us that the Knight-Commander is making mages tranquil left and right, and you want us to what? Fight our way into the Gallows to rescue your friend?" Carver huffed.

"No, Karl is going to meet me in the Chantry tonight," the former Warden hesitated, "I don't think there will be Templars," he added slowly.

"Well that's certainly reassuring Blondie," Varric chuckled darkly.

Hawke sighed, scrutinizing the mage in front of him carefully. If they went and helped Anders, they could be captured and he could be made Tranquil…and if he didn't help Anders then they all could end taking a wrong turn in the Deep Roads and end up eaten by darkspawn…and without the expedition it was only a matter of time before he was caught…and probably made tranquil; he'd refuse to wear the robes, it would end badly. He rubbed the back of his neck and inhaled deeply before plastering a smile to his face, "Well, this should be fun," Anders smiled appreciatively while Carver groaned, "You aren't expecting too many Templars I hope," Hawke added glibly.

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><p><em>Yay! A good chunk of the team has been amassed in one chapter! ...I consider it an accomplishment... <em>

_Totally unrelated...HOLY CRAP! That article about ME3 in Game Informer! Dunno about you but I'm excited...Love Bioware..._


	10. Fool's Rush In

_Yeah...last chapter got just about the enthusiastic review I expected. _

_For this chapter...in my defense...I think I spiced up the Isabela introduction. The goal was to have it make a bit more sense than it does in the game...or at least to contextualize her behavior...we shall see..._

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><p>Hawke shivered again and pulled his paper thin blanket tighter around his chest in a futile effort to stop from shivering again. He was still reeling from what had happened at the Chantry. The mage they'd gone to save, Karl, had been branded a tranquil, they'd been ambushed by Templars, and to top it off, Anders had turned out to be some glowy abomination who wasn't 'really' an abomination; not that that 'really' made any of it better.<p>

He shivered again. As he tended to avoid the Gallows, he'd never been that close to a tranquil mage before-he'd never heard one speak or seen the way their eyes seemed to see everything that was around them and yet remained completely dead. The scar-the brand-on Karl's forehead had been new, bright and pink, and he shivered again and sat up in bed, accepting that he wasn't going to be able to sleep.

He slipped quietly from his bunk and walked shakily to the main room of the hovel. And the Templars…his father had warned both him and Bethany of their ability to suppress magic but he'd never felt it before. He could still feel them, their powers; it was like a hand was curled around his neck, suffocating him. Only it was reaching even deeper, cutting off something inside that was even more vital then air. He shivered again and tried to pull forth the mana to start a fire. His mana was still all gone, fading in and out like he was drowning, sinking below the water only to come up for gasps of air long enough to continue fighting, but not long enough to actually breathe. Hawke staggered over to his chest and cracked it open. He pulled out a vial of lyrium and sank against the side of the hovel, battling with the stopper in the vial. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely get his fingers to close around the cap.

He brought the vial to his mouth and pulled the cap out with his teeth before gulping down the liquid appreciatively. He winced as the initial head rush hit him and then moaned contently as it passed, leaving his body humming as magic coursed through him. He breathed deeply, finally feeling his eyelids start to droop.

**Next Day: Hanged Man:**

Hawke ran his hand over his face, trying to ward off the exhaustion he felt. He'd managed to get maybe two hours of sleep, and the whole time he'd been dreaming of spirits of justice and tranquil mages. He shivered; they had hardly been pleasant dreams.

The smashing of a bottle startled him and he looked towards the bar, alarmed to see yet another bar fight. He cocked his head as he watched, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched Lucky get his ass kicked by a scantily clad pirate. He grinned as she held a knife to Lucky's throat, calmly making him back down. Hawke chuckled lightly to himself; Lucky was an ass, and his name was more ironic than that dwarf contact of Athenril's who went by the name Worthy. It was a refreshing change to see him-and his entire entourage of swill-get their asses handed to them.

He approached the bar slowly, his eyes sweeping the room. Varric was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, since the dwarf split his time evenly between following Hawke and drinking and telling stories at the Hanged Man-it also made his trip here a bit of a waste. Coriff spotted his approach and gave a wave but didn't bother coming over; Hawke was saving for the expedition, he had no spare coin to spend on drinks-even if he desperately wanted one-and Coriff knew it.

The raven haired pirate was watching him from her perch adjacent to him. She took a slow sip of her whiskey and innocently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Hawke swallowed hard and watched as a less than innocent smirk danced briefly across her face, and he realized that the gesture had been highly calculated. She was testing him.

She wanted something.

Realizing this, Hawke allowed his eyes to stay on her, surveying her appreciatively. She stood slowly and sauntered towards him, her hips swaying freely in her snug white tunic. "My," she mused, a coy smile tugging at her lips, "And here I thought the only men in this place were besotted fools who couldn't hoist the main sail," she mused. Hawke suppressed a shiver, her words were low, husky, and oh so suggestive.

He grinned and forced the growing fire in his belly to subside, "When you say hoist the main sail what do you really mean?" he offered innocently, a knowing glint in his eye.

A genuine smirk danced at the corner of the pirates lips; for whatever reason, his retort seemed to have a positive effect on her. Hawke's grin widened; that was certainly a rare occurrence.

She shrugged, feigning innocence, "I meant nothing," the coy grin returned, "It is a simple task that requires some strength, skill, and…a small measure of sobriety," she finished, her eyes openly appraising him.

He chuckled, "And yet you've been keeping company with Lucky?" He teased her, a playful grin on his face.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation, a good natured smile gracing her caramel colored face. He watched her lips pull into a smile, the small piercing just below her lips bopping slightly as her skin moved. He felt his hand twitch, repressing the sudden urge to reach out and run his fingers across her lips. "Lucky…doesn't really have a main sail," she mused, a small pout forming briefly on her lips before she brought her attention back to him, "I'm Isabela-formerly Captain Isabela," she clarified ruthfully, the slightest edge of bitterness tingeing her words, "But without a ship that title rings a bit hollow," she shrugged, trying to downplay her obvious irritation.

"Hawke," he nodded his head in greeting, not complaining when the small gesture put his eyes temporarily at eye level with her chest; from the small glint of amusement in her eyes as his eyes returned to hers, she was hardly upset that his eyes had wandered. He swallowed again, feeling well out of his league next to her. She was easily a few years his senior, four, maybe five, but it was the way she carried herself, so confident, that just oozed of…experience that left him feeling like he was drowning. He felt his mouth run dry, "No Captain or previously captain though," he added as an afterthought, trying to keep his voice light.

She chuckled again and finally slid gracefully into the seat next to him. "You're Fereldan aren't you?" He stiffened slightly; did he really smell like a wet dog? Maker…His cheeks started to burn and he again felt out of his league. Realizing his interpretation of her words she continued quickly without losing the slow seductive melody of her voice, "You have that look about you," she explained, smiling again sincerely, without elaborating on whatever THAT was supposed to mean. She paused a moment, taking a sip from her glass, "I was in Denerim not too long ago," she added thoughtfully.

"I've never been," Hawke admitted honestly, wishing he had the willpower left to say something witty. He watched as she swirled her drink slowly, her eyes fixed on his face, "Were you there during the uh, -when the Archdemon fell," he added, suddenly feeling awkward.

She chuckled, whether it was at his question or his obvious discomfort he wasn't sure, "No, I left long before that thankfully…but I did meet the Grey Wardens," she admitted, her eyes taking on a far off quality. She shiverd slightly. Isabela finished off her drink and turned to flag down Coriff for another, "You know, you might be just what I'm looking for to solve a little…problem I have," she said finally, watching his expression with great interest.

Hawke nodded slowly; so he'd been right after all, she did just want to use him and discard him.

Maker, why did that idea sound so absurdly appealing?

"And what is it that you need?" he asked, feeling out of practice as he lowered his voice in what he hoped was at least a mildly seductive manner.

"Someone from my past has been pestering me," Isabela explained, not seeming to register his inflection, or simply not caring now that he was so obviously wrapped around her finger, he didn't know, "I've arranged for a duel, if I win, he'll leave me alone."

"A duel?" Hawke felt a genuine grin stretch across his lips.

She shrugged coyly, "I like duels. It's what I do," she replied cryptically. "And if I win, he'll be dead-problem solved." He certainly couldn't argue with that logic. "But…I don't trust him to play fair," she admitted, and Hawke saw a small flash of anger and maybe…fear…cross her face, but it was gone before he could tell for sure. "I need someone to watch my back," she finished, letting her fingers circle the rim of her shot glass sensually, "There would be…payment…of course," she added huskily, leaving Hawke at the mercy of his overactive imagination to figure out what she meant by payment.

"I think I could manage watching your back," he agreed fluidly, relieved that he could manage at least one witty one liner while she was being so distracting.

The pirate chuckled, and again, Hawke found himself unsure of what she was laughing at; his comment or her effortless job of wrapping him around her finger, "I'll bet," she agreed, winking at him. "I'll be in Hightown after sunset," she explained as she stood from her chair. Her fingers danced lightly up his bare arm and she watched his muscles flex and tense under her touch. She walked away from him slowly, her fingers ghosting up past his shoulder before breaking contact; she left without looking back.

He swallowed hard, willing his suddenly racing heart to come back under control. A sudden thought struck him and made his cheeks flush red; Aveline would murder him for being such a gullible pig.

Oh shit. She'd sent him a letter, requesting that he meet her at the Keep. He scrambled from his seat quickly and ran out the door, hoping he'd be able to think of a good excuse for keeping her waiting as he ran.

**The Keep: Not Much Later:**

"Aveline," Hawke said, his voice coated in charm in what he already knew would be a useless attempt at alleviating her fiery temper.

She didn't turn from the duty roster as she responded. "Hawke," she nodded her head slightly.

This stopped him cold and he frowned. He'd expected her full attention, and more specifically her full fury. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as she continued to stare at the roster in front of her, "It's been a while…hasn't it?" he offered finally; and it had been a while, he hadn't talked with her since the riots, over a week ago now. It still felt strange not seeing her on a daily basis like he had when they'd worked together for Athenril.

She spun quickly, "What? Oh, right…sorry," she still sounded distracted. "It feels like we just talked," she admitted, "Information is one of the few perks of this job," the red head added as she gestured for him to follow her to a more secluded area of the barracks.

"That and you don't have to sleep in Lowtown," Hawke offered cheerfully. He hesitated, "Carver sent in an application to join…your recommendation might go a long way," he explained, not wanting to ask any favors of Aveline as she was just getting onto her own feet, but unable to resist the instinct to do what he could for his obnoxious little brother.

Ignoring his comment about Carver she pushed on, "Watch out for Bartrand, he's a son of a bitch," she said warily.

Hawke shrugged, unfazed by her knowledge of the goings on of his life, "I like his brother enough; Bartrand can't be all bad."

Aveline sighed; even after all this time, Hawke was still willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes his lack of suspicion, even after all they'd gone through-all he'd gone through for years before she'd met him-made her want to smack him silly.

"He's a son of a bitch," she repeated empathically. The distant look returned to her eyes, "If you're determined to get in on the Expedition…I might have some work for you," she said quietly, almost to herself.

He cocked his head one side thoughtfully. "What's the job?" he asked nervously, unsettled by her obvious unease.

"Highway men," Aveline said, her nose curling in disgust, "An ambush near Sundermount…probably for a caravan but…I can't find any shipments or logs worth ambushing," she bit her lips. "Doesn't matter though, either way, their activities need to be stopped."

Hawke grinned, "I do hope it's the Coterie; it's been so long since I've been able to kick Brekkars ase."

Aveline grinned, "I'd just as soon avoid a reunion personally."

He chuckled, "Well, regardless Aveline, you have yourself a partner," he promised. "Just like old times," he smiled sincerely.

Aveline allowed a small smile of appreciation to grace her lips; then she was all business again, "I knew I could count on you Hawke. Now, let's go collect that fool brother of yours and head out," she ordered.

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><p><em>So...thats...the first taste of Isabela I suppose...gosh I'm nervous.<em>

_Anyways, I'm in bed after a minor surgery thingie, SOOOO updates can come as quickly as the reviews do...if that helps incentivize you at all._

_Enjoy and Review!_


	11. Stabbing First

_I'm glad Isabela's introduction went over well!...Not that I wrote most of that dialogue...hmmm_

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><p>Hawke groaned as he tried not to trip of the steps of the Viscount's Keep. The ambush near the foothills of Sundermount had taken a lot out of him-out of all of them-if Carver's panting and Varric's limp were any indication; not that Aveline showed any sign of slowing down. When that woman was on a mission…Maker… And now they were running back to the Keep to inform Aveline's Captain. Hawke stopped as they approached flight of stairs, trying to shake a wave of dizziness from his head. Carver paused besides him, giving him a concerned glare.<p>

"That was a lot of bandits," Carver said mildly as Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hawke grunted. "A lot of bodies now," the elder muttered dryly. He inhaled deeply, collecting his thoughts, and slowly felt his mana replenishing as the headache and dizziness faded. He started up the stairs again and entered the guard barracks just in time to see Aveline enter the Captain's office.

Hawke approached the closed door and sank to the ground next to it. The voices in the office started low, barely whispers that Hawke couldn't make out, but soon one voice, the captains, rose until everyone in the barrack was staring at the door.

"I don't know how they do it where you're from guardswoman, but here, I decide the patrols, not you and your 'feelings'!" the captain voice drifted through the door, the disdain evident in his voice. "I don't need any self important show-off's under my command. Have I made myself clear?"

Hawke winced as he listened to the Captain's words. His jaw clenched as he bit back the urge to fire off a retort on the red head's behalf. Aveline was the furthest thing from a show off. Her intense dedication to her moral compass could make her seem self-righteous at times…a lot of times, but she'd kept that moral compass even when they were in servitude. It had kept both him and Carver in line, had helped keep them from embracing the villainous lifestyle they'd been thrust into. And no matter what they went through, she'd stuck by his side; even when it would have been easier for her to ignore or even turn in the apostate.

"Return to your post before I have you and your Fereldan accomplice jailed!" The captain added hotly. The door to the office burst open and Aveline walked out quickly, not looking at anyone as she strode towards her quarters.

Hawke followed after her, trying his hardest to hold back a sarcastic comment; he knew she wouldn't appreciate one, but damn, it was still hard.

Aveline stared out the windows of the barracks, her shoulders tight and her breathing deep. He gestured for Carver and Varric to stay back. Sometimes, when Aveline got like this, she wasn't the easiest person to deal with. And so far he was the only one who had proven able to take her anger. "That was a lot of yelling for doing your captain a favor," Hawke offered, trying to sound supportive.

Aveline stayed silent a long moment, her freckled face flush with indignation, "We killed a band of highwaymen. What does it matter whose patrol it was?" She bit her lip, "Something is very wrong Hawke," she added quietly.

"When is it not," he muttered lightly, flashing her a smile he hoped was comforting. She moved towards the duty roster and he followed silently.

Another guardswoman approached, thanking Aveline for taking the patrol; Aveline's action saved the woman's life in all likelihood. And it also only served to make the Captain sound more and more suspect of some sort of illegality. Absentmindedly, Hawke scratched his chin, surprised by the amount of stubble he felt beneath his fingers.

"So another guard is going to walk into the same trap," Hawke murmured.

Aveline nodded, her eyes scanning the duty roster, "Guardsman Donnic-good man," she murmured, "His patrol isn't for a few hours. We should reach him well before the trap is sprung," Aveline said firmly.

"Stepping on the toes of those in government? No, it never gets old," he said flippantly, nodding his head in support. Aveline smiled.

"Then we best start back towards Lowtown. We can get to Donnic before his patrol even starts."

**Hightown:**

Hawke followed Aveline down the steps of the Viscounts Keep; the red head was clearly on a mission.

"There you are!" A silky voice said suddenly.

Hawke paused and spun towards the voice. "Isabela," Hawke said lightly, a small feeling of panic in his chest as he felt Aveline's eyes staring holes into the back of his skull. Shit he was in trouble.

"I've been here for hours," Isabela continued, her eyes darting around nervously, "Hayder hasn't shown…no one has…I don't like this," she concluded, biting her lip.

Varric chuckled, "I don't like this? That's right up there with 'What could possibly go wrong?" the dwarf said in his usual charming way.

"Hawke, we need to go," Aveline said tersely. Hawke sighed and scratched the base of his neck before turning to Aveline.

He pulled her aside, "I promised Isabela I'd help her," Aveline's eyes narrowed and she started to protest, "We can still make Donnic's patrol. This shouldn't take long," he promised.

Aveline seethed, her lips pursed into a thin line, "Fine Hawke. But if anything happens to Donnic because we stopped to help this…this whore…it's on your head," she stormed away.

Hawke pushed his unruly hair from his eyes and rejoined the group. Isabela was biting back a small smile. She seemed amused by Aveline's blatant dislike of her.

Suddenly a group of raiders emerged from the shadows. As the first wave struck, Hawke began to realize just how long of a night he'd signed up for.

**Later:**

"Stab first and ask questions later?" Hawke grinned as he approached the former pirate captain who was standing over Hayder's dead corpse.

Isabela bit back a grin, ignoring the excited flutter she felt in her stomach as he approached; the adrenaline rush of a good battle always left her ready for a…duel…of another sort. "Trust me Hawke, it's better this way," she affirmed.

He raised an eyebrow in amusement, but the look didn't quite meet his eyes. He was skeptical of her, not that she blamed him. She hardly inspired confidence.

Hawke glanced back towards the dead body of Hayder and his men. He reached down slowly and wedged a knife out of one's chest. He spun it deftly between his fingers and handed her the hilt, "Don't forget this," he said dryly.

She grinned and took the knife silently. Glancing around at the utter devastation she realized she may have misjudged Hawke. She figured he was just a body to put between herself and Hayder; a man who would be good with his sword but not much else. Leaning down she wiped the bloodied knife off on Hayder's shirt.

"So, you're a mage hmm?" she asked innocently, watching the way his eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, before his typical grin bounced back onto his face.

"I believe the proper term is apostate actually," he asked lightly. "Is that a problem?"

She shook her head, "Not at all," in fact that knowledge was quite the opposite. It meant his red headed guard friend would be in no hurry to explain what had happened here to any of her superiors; the nights excursions would remain relatively unnoticed. And that was a very very good thing. "You handle your…staff…extremely well," she added quietly, knowing he would catch her drift.

He did, and the corner of his lip twitched. "What was Hayder talking about? A Relic?" Hawke asked, ignoring his impulse to respond to her flirtation.

Isabela sighed, mildly irritated she hadn't been able to divert his attention, "Castillion has me tracking it down as payment for freeing 'his' would-be slaves," she grit her teeth, still furious that she'd almost remained ignorant to her part in his human trafficking; the bastard. "Freeing them seemed like such a good idea at the time," she mused. "But to pay him back, or rather, so he doesn't kill me, I have to get him this relic; simple as that," she shrugged indifferently. Hawke really didn't need to know the details, they weren't that important…

"Relics. I've always hated history," Hawke sighed, running his hand through his hair in what Isabela could already tell was a self conscious gesture, "What's so interesting about this relic?"

"I….don't really know," she fibbed, "It's ancient and…valuable I suppose." He looked ready to question her again, "I really hope it's shiny," she added. He stared at her for a moment, and Isabela got the uncomfortable feeling that he still didn't fully believe her. She tried again, "I think he just wants me dead," she admitted, allowing her voice to tremble slightly, "but that would be letting me off easy," she finished, offering a hollow chuckle.

His hand went through his hair again and his eyes darted back to the impatient looking red head who was standing with her arms crossed, glaring at the both of them furiously. "If getting the relic gets Castillion off your back, I'll help you retrieve it," he offered, watching her expression closely.

Shocked, Isabela felt her eyebrows shoot up. She hadn't expected that. Not at all. She sighed. He was expecting sex wasn't he? And lots of it probably; until they found the relic. Well, he had certainly proven himself to be more than useful…and he could handle himself in a fight. Her eyes drifted across his body quickly; she could probably work with that. His muscles flexed again as his hand again went towards his hair and she felt a shiver run down her spine; yes, she could…suffer…through that. A smile stretched across her face; this arrangement had turned into more of a win/win then she'd anticipated.

"I still don't know where it is," she admitted, "But you'll be the first to know if I hear anything," she added, giving him a small nod of thanks. She chuckled wryly, "So I guess I'll be around for a while and…" she leaned in closer, "I have a room at the Hanged Man if you're looking for…company…later," she added with a smirk, letting her hands trail down his bare chiseled arms.

He raised an eyebrow and returned her grin.

"Yes, you're a whore, we get it. Hawke, can we go now?" the red-head chimed in dryly.

Isabela bit back another grin as she watched Hawke's cheeks turn red; he was positively adorable.

"Yes Aveline, we'll go to Lowtown right now," he promised, turning from the pirate quickly. He offered her one last grin and a wave as he followed the red head out towards whatever they so urgently had to get to Lowtown for.

Isabela bit her lip as she watched the group fly down the Chantry steps. Hawke obviously wasn't fucking the red head….so why was he so eager to help her? She spun the knife in her fingers delicately as she pondered the members of the group. She recognized Varric; he lived a few doors down from her at the Hanged Man and was funding an expedition to the Deep Roads…but clearly the guardswoman wouldn't be a part of that? What an odd rag tag bunch they made.

Isabela sighed irritably. She was giving them-Hawke-way too much thought. More than he deserved. She smiled happily; with Hayder out of the way, she could go enjoy a nice evening at the Hanged Man and wait for Hawke to show up. After ten minutes and a few body shots with him, she'd know everything there was to know about the young mage. Men were so predictable. She chuckled.

**Lowtown:**

"If we miss Donnic because of that whore-" Aveline was still brooding. She increased her pace and Hawke glanced over his shoulder, flashing Varric an apologetic smile as the short man's legs just weren't able to keep up with Aveline's ridiculous pace. Varric grinned broadly, rolling his eyes at Aveline and her inuman stamina. Even Carver was starting to fall behind the furious red head; though that was probably because Carver knew to stay clear of her when she went into mission mode.

"They would have killed her Aveline, as a guard you help out everyone don't you?" he challenged, keeping his voice light.

She glared at him, "I'd rather keep Donnic alive than some whore you met at the Hanged Man," she muttered half-heartedly.

"She's not a-"

"I don't care," Aveline interupted heatedly.

Hawke chuckled in between pants; Aveline wanted to help everyone, it was just in her nature-often times she wanted to help regardless of whether a person actually wanted her help. She was understandably worried about her fellow guards, but she never would have turned her back on Isabela…once she saw that the woman really did need aid.

"There, up ahead," she said suddenly, pulling her sword and shield from her back as she charged down an alley. Hawke swore softly as the lone guard in the ally fell to the ground. He inhaled deeply, pulling forth the mana for a fireball and charged into the fray after Aveline.

**Later: The Hovel:**

Fighting exhaustion, Hawke stumbled into the Hovel. Carver and Varric had returned home while he and Aveline had headed back to Hightown, with a barely injured Donnic in tow, to sort out the messy web of corruption the Guard Captain had been embroiled in. Well…former Guard Captain now. He had no doubt the new Guard Captain would be immune to corruption. Hawke grinned; Guard-Captain Aveline, it had a nice ring to it.

Absolutely exhausted he stumbled against the door frame and groaned when he realized the sun was already beginning to light up the morning sky. Any thoughts of taking Isabela up on her offer for company had vanished from his head hours ago.

Hawke shivered and rubbed his hands together. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Every cell, every nerve of his body felt drained. He'd been fighting for hours, first at Sundermount, than with Hayder's men, then in Lowtown. Feeling his legs start to give way he sank to his knees next to his chest and fished his hand inside it. His hand brushed against a small rounded object and he frowned as he pulled it out. A shaft of light illuminate the trinket and Hawke felt the remaining blood drain from his face. He still hadn't delivered Flemeth's amulet, shit. He willed the shaking in his hand to stop and he deposited the trinket into his pocket; getting rid of his debt to the dragon-witch lady needed to be moved to the top of his priority list. He rummaged through the crate again, finally finding was he was looking for at the very bottom. His expression turned grim. This was the last of his lyrium. His hand continued to tremble as he pushed the vial to his lips.

He breathed heavily as he waited for the painful head rush to pass. His hands stopped shaking instantly, and he felt the hum of magic all around him. Sighing in relief, he rose steadily to his feet. He pulled his coin purse from his belt and swore softly. He didn't have enough money to pay Tomwise for another supply. Hawke licked his lip nervously and ran his hand through his hair. He was in deep trouble.

* * *

><p><em>...Yes? Decent...? I question...<em>

_...After writing just two chapters of Isabela I question how she and Hawke managed to avoid sleeping together for years. __I guess that means there might be some angst at some point lol_

_I'm trying hard to cut out chunks of the game dialogue, as much of it as I can while still 'hitting' the game plot points (so people know whats going on). Feedback on how that is working out over the next few chapters would be much appriciated. ...Well, all feedback's greatly appriciated. _

_Enjoy and Review!_


	12. It's All Legitimate

_I wasn't planning on updating so quickly, but I like to reward reviewers with updates-and I got a nice amount of reviews. Thank you!_

* * *

><p>Isabela laughed happily as a drunken patron, easily ten years her senior -if not more-handed her another drink. Another man, his face rough from stubble scratched his chin along her stomach, drinking a shot off her abdomen. She curled her fingers into his hair absentmindedly, her eyes drifting towards the door. A mild feeling of irritation coursed through her, where was that Blighted Hawke?<p>

Her ears perked up as the door swung open, and she was disappointed to see two city guards walk in. She sighed and rolled her eyes; Hawke was not worth the attention she was giving him. If he was interested, he'd of arrived hours ago. She turned her attention towards the blonde haired man licking circles round her exposed belly button.

He was here.

Hawke was not.

Hawke's loss.

She tightened her hands around the mans hair, pulling him up from her bellybutton. His eyes were glazed over and he gave her a sloppy grin. She pushed her lips to his, tasting the stale whiskey on his breath. Not for the first time, she found herself marveling at how the smell had repulsed her little over a decade ago. Now, it was familiar. His hands moved sloppily down her sides and she allowed herself a small shiver as he moaned desperately against her lips.

She jumped down from the table, finishing off her whiskey. She grabbed the hem of the man's shirt and pulled him up the stairs after her; he'd do.

**The Next Day:**

"Well, it's nice to know some things never change," a gruff voice chuckled, rousing Isabela from her sleep. Isabela groaned and felt the weight of a warm chest against hers…but the chest didn't belong with the voice…

Isabela winced as she opened her eyes, one hand moving to cover them as the other moved instinctively towards the dagger under her pillow.

"Easy girl," the voice added. "It's just me."

The accent sounded familiar and Isabela shot up, pulling her blanket around herself as she went. "Martin?" she grinned at him happily. She frowned as she took in his appearance, "What happened to you?" she gestured to the grizzly mark across his neck.

He rubbed itself consciously. "A business deal went south," he offered vaguely.

The man next to her stirred and blinked sleepily as he opened his eyes. His eyes instantly settled on Isabela and he moved in towards her. She lay a hand politely against his chest to stop him and when he didn't get the hint she shoved him forcefully from the bed with a sigh. He landed on his ass, completely naked.

"Bitch," he hissed, rubbing his head, which was probably throbbing from a Hangover, if her head was any indication.

She shrugged, unfazed by his callousness. The man finally noticed Martin, and thought better off forcing the issue. Grabbing his pants, he left quickly.

Martin chuckled, "So, up to your old tricks still aye?"

Isabela smiled suggestively, "I never use old tricks Martin," she replied coyly.

He laughed, "Isn't that the truth."

He offered her a glass of water she hadn't noticed him holding, and she took it gratefully, careful to keep one hand on the sheet she had pulled around her. The pirate was unsure where her strange sense of modesty was coming from; he'd seen it all before, even if seeing was all he'd ever done-or would do.

"What are you doing here Martin?" She rubbed her eyes, "And why so early?" she added irritably.

"It's past noon Isabela," Martin barked. "And I'm here because I have some work that needs doing. If you're interested. It'll take a couple people to do properly."

Why her brain instantly thought of Hawke, she didn't know. "I might be able to help you out," she admitted slowly. "How long are you going to be around?"

Martin shrugged, "Dunno. Kind of depends on this job I need you to do," he stared at her intently, as if deciding whether or not he could trust her.

"Martin," Isabela chided with a grin, "I'll get it done," she assured him.

He nodded and stood stiffly. "Good," he muttered, trying to sound gruff, but the relief was evident in his gravelly voice.

**Hanged Man: Main Pub:**

Hawke rubbed his neck as he entered, trying desperately to work out the kink in his neck that had developed after sleeping hunched against the side of the hovel. He desperately hoped Varric would be at the pub. True, returning the Witches Amulet to the Dalish camped at Sundermount had nothing to do with the dwarf, but the dwarf was always looking for good stories and adventures; and this seemed to have all the makings of a grand adventure. Or Varric would end up writing his eulogy. Either way, the dwarf would be of use.

And he was a good shot. If the Dalish didn't warm to the idea of letting humans into their camp, any back up they could get would be useful.

"Hawke!" The silky voice sounded surprised to see him.

Grinning, Hawke turned towards the voice, and watched as Isabela descended the staircase into the pub. She grinned coyly at him, but winced as a patron loudly smashed his glass against the table. He chuckled, "Guess I missed quite a party," he raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed," she agreed, fighting the urge to smile back at him. Did he always have to have that confident smirk plastered across his face? It was obnoxiously infectious.

The former pirate captain saunter by him, making sure her shoulder brushed against his, and took her usual seat at the bar. She threw a coin at Coriff and gratefully accepted her drink. Patting the seat next to her, Isabela gestured for Hawke to join her. He did silently.

"You're not drinking?" she asked dejectedly.

He laughed, "And you are? You're still hungover," he pointed out, his lopsided grin spread further across his face.

"If I get drunk again I won't even notice," she replied diplomatically, taking a sip of her drink. He didn't need to know she'd bought water. "Come on," she nudged him playfully, "Live a little," she encouraged with a wink.

His smirk widened, but she saw the slightest blush creep to his cheeks, and a stray thought danced into her head : she would annihilate him in a card game. Ideally, they'd be playing for clothes. "It's still a bit early for me," he replied diplomatically, still grinning.

Isabela shrugged, and finished her cup "Time is just a matter of perspective sweet thing," she said lightly, allowing her free hand to ghost over his arm. She flagged down Coriff again, ordered two drinks, and handed one to Hawke.

He raised an eyebrow, but tipped his glass to her in thanks, "If you're still around after this Deep Roads expedition, I owe you one," he promised.

She snorted, "I better not still be here," she smirked. She spun towards him, twirling her finger around the brim of her glass as she considered her words, "So you are working for Varric on this expedition of his hmm," he nodded. So that's why he'd helped her; the expedition was desperate for funding. Isabela bit her lip. "I might have some work for you, if you're interested?"

Hawke took a sip of his whiskey and stared at her thoughtfully, "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth…but what exactly is this…work?" He flashed her a crooked grin.

"I have a friend who could use some help."

Now he looked interested, "A friend? Or a friend?" he grinned suggestively.

Despite herself, she felt a grin stretch across her face, "You almost sound jealous Hawke," she teased lightly, reveling in the way his face pinkened ever so slightly, "You had your chance last night goose," she added coyly, moving in closer to him, pressing her upper body against his, just in case he'd forgotten what he'd missed out on.

She felt him inhale shakily, and as he exhaled, his hot breath hit her neck, causing her to shiver and rethink her pledge to reject him should he come 'round looking for company. "Who's this friend Isabela?" he asked quietly, his breath hitting her ear. Her lips twitched in a mixture of amusement and annoyance; he kept ruining the moment to talk business.

She smiled and pulled back, taking a sip from her glass before she answered, trying to will away the fluttering excitement in her belly. "His name is Martin, and he wasn't particularly forthcoming," she said calmly, "But I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle," she added with a wink.

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint," Hawke chuckled.

"He's upstairs, a few doors down from Varric," Isabela elaborated, "If you want, I'll introduce you."

Hawke ran his hand through his hair. The amulet felt heavy in his pocket-he wanted it gone-, but they definitely needed the coin for the expedition. He nodded, "I'd be delighted," he smiled at the pirate. The amulet had waited this long, he could postpone fulfilling his end of the bargain another 24 hours.

"Lead the way Isabela," he bowed his head slightly, a playful grin on his face.

She rolled her eyes as she bounced to her feet and grabbed his wrist, able to feel his pulse beat through the thin leather of his gloves. She weaved them expertly between the tables and patrons and up towards the living quarters.

Her stomach fluttered again as she realized how easy it would be to distract Hawke from his job. He was following her willingly, not opposed to letting her drag him along. She could shove him through the door of her room, slam it behind them, shove him against the wall and…she shivered. But no, he'd missed his chance; the offer had been a one night exclusive thank you. And now, she was repaying him by getting him work for his expedition instead.

As she passed by her door she gave it an evil glare. It looked so nice and sturdy for throwing Hawke against. She quickened her pace and knocked on Martin's door before she could contemplate that line of thought further.

"Who's there?" Martin's gruff voice holler through the door.

Isabela rolled her eyes; Martin had always been wary, but Andraste's ass, she'd only talked to him a bit ago. "It's only me, Martin," she said dryly and she listened to the scuffing of a chair against the cheap wooden floor as Martin moved to open up for them. She chuckled as he opened it, unable to resist the urge to tease him, "What happened to the dashing, fearless raider I used to know?"

Martin sneered at her and she felt Hawke stiffen behind her.

"I'm just an honest merchant nowadays Isabela," Martin directed the comment to her, but his eyes were on Hawke.

"Please Martin," she retorted, "You wouldn't know honest if I tied you up and spanked you with it."

"Right. You tie him up, I'll go find some honesty," Hawke quipped, an odd twinge to his usually light voice. She turned to him in confusion. His typical lopsided smirk was plastered across his face, but the amused glint didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's this job you need help with?" he added, cutting right back to business.

"I'm not a raider anymore. Lookin' to make an honest livin'," Martin growled, "But some damned raiders stole my cargo. It was my ticket to startin' over," he explained.

"Why would raiders want your cargo? Was it valuable?" Hawke asked, keeping his voice light. Isabela raised an eyebrow…Hawke was acting strangely.

"How should I know why they'd want it," Martin sneered, "It was nothin' but spices and herbs," he shrugged.

Hawke starred at Martin for a long moment before nodding, "I'll look into it for you," he promised the ex-raider. He turned to Isabela, "Have you seen Varric? Looks like we have some work to do," he paused, the typical mischievous glint returning to his eye as he smiled at her, "I assume you're tagging along?"

Isabela felt her own face stretch into a grin, "I love killing raiders," she agreed and they bid Martin goodbye, "And if we kill them, we get to take their stuff," she added as an afterthought. She watched as Hawke's face burst into a large genuine smile of amusement, and she felt a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach. Damn him. That stupid smile of his was too damn attractive.

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><p><em>...I'm probably the only person in the world who wishes that the scar on Martin's neck was an optional tattooscar...yes...in some weird alternate Dragon Age 2 universe I want the Hawkes to have literally been run out of town by a mob eager to kill the family mages...wow...that was really dark..._

_Well whatever._

_Enjoy and Review!_


	13. Fires and Fireballs: Mages and Pyromania

"Andraste's Ass!" Carver swore loudly, hoping over to a crate. He grabbed his injured foot and pulled the boot off, wincing as he surveyed the damage. Blood dripped down his heel. "That trap clipped me!" He turned to Hawke, "Weren't you suppose to be watching for those?" he accused angrily.

Hawke cocked his head in confusion, "Father never taught me the 'trap detecting' spell. Sorry," he smiled innocently as Carver's jaw clenched.

Anders sighed, "Hold still," he ordered Carver. The healers' hands began to glow.

Isabela silently observed the exchange. The younger of the two brothers was handsome, or would be, once he grew up a bit…a lot. And stopped blaming his brother for everything. In the two days she'd known the pair, the young swordsman's antics had already grown tiresome. How-after putting up with it for nearly twenty years-Garrett managed to keep from punching his little brother square in the nose, Isabela didn't know.

"There you go; see magic has its uses," Anders said lightly as he helped Carver to his feet.

"If you try to make me read your manifesto again, so help me-" Carver sneered as he pulled his other boot on.

Anders raised an eyebrow as an idea struck him, "That's it! Every time I heal you, I'll make you read one page of my manifesto as payment….You'll be through the whole manuscript in a few days," he turned towards Hawke, who matched the healers grin.

Isabela bit back a smile of her own. Anders on the other hand was quite entertaining-when he wasn't being all doom and gloom about the mages plight of course. Oddly, it helped that Hawke liked him; the young mage seemed capable of coaxing even the dourest of his traveling companions towards humor. Except, of course, for his brother.

"Why it's practically painless," Hawke agreed sardonically.

"Sod off, the both of you," Carver grumbled as he hoisted his sword onto his back. "Let's just go," he added, marching on a head of the party.

"Thank you for that," she heard Hawke mutter to Anders.

"No problem, scrapes like that are easy to fix-until they get infected," Anders shrugged. "I can't do anything for the stick up his ass though," he added apologetically.

Hawke chuckled, "We've been looking for a cure for years Anders; I don't expect you to work miracles." There was quiet for a minute as the group rummaged through the crates, looking for the ones the Raider's had stolen from Martin. "I'm glad you came along," Hawke said thoughtfully, still unaware that Isabela was eavesdropping, "Healing was more Bethany's specialty than mine; I'm bloody terrible," he chuckled, though there was an edge of sadness to his voice. Who was Bethany?

"You should stop by the clinic if you have some time, we'll see if we can't make a healer out of you," Anders said lightly. "I doubt I'll be able to accompany you on all your 'errands' and it's better if you can treat things as they happen instead of running back to Darktown everytime your brother forgets to look where he's going," the former Warden smirked.

"Found it," Carver hollered. Still sulking he waved the others over.

"Ah, the fanciest seal in the harbor," Hawke nodded, "This is definitely it." Using the end of his staff he levered the crate open. Seeing the contents he swore softly. "Those are definitely not herbs or spices," Hawke said finally, the lightness in his voice sounded forced.

Isabela craned her head over Hawke's shoulder to see inside the crate, "Oh! The black hand!" she said excitedly, her eyes widening to saucers, "A blend of 27 toxic plant roots, with a healthy dollop of cobra venom for that extra kick," her grin widened even as Hawke's lips pursed into a narrow line, "That stuff will kill a man in two breathes…can I have some? Martin won't know if one or two little vials goes missing," she reached forward to grab one and Hawke caught her wrist.

"No one's taking any of it," he said evenly, his deep blue eyes swirling angrily. Isabela glared back at him; his grip on her wrist was tight but not painful. Either way she didn't appreciate being handled. She yanked her arm from his grip, his fingers instantly releasing their hold. "We were told we were retrieving herbs and spices," Hawke added, trying to put a smile on his face as he turned back to the crate, "Those aren't herbs or spices."

Isabela shrugged, "Martin probably didn't think we'd look in the crates," she explained, unconcerned by the discrepancy in Martin's statement.

The Hawke brothers looked at one another, an understanding passed between them. Hawke cocked an eyebrow. "Right. That makes it better," Carver said as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"It's none of our business. He'll pay us, you'll have money for your precious expedition," she sighed irritably. She hadn't expected Hawke to turn into such a stick in the mud. "And Martin gets the good he paid us to retrieve."

"The only people getting these crates are the city guards," Hawke said firmly.

Her eyes darkened, "You wouldn't."

Hawke sighed and his hand unconsciously came up to run through his messy black hair. He wouldn't smuggle illegal cargo for Martin. He'd done that for a year with Athenril, had aided in the commitment of countless crimes, either directly for Athenril or through the goods he'd been forced to transport. He'd done more than enough damage to the city. But he couldn't very well tell Aveline, mage or no she'd fry him alive. "I would," he lied easily, no hint of the usual mischievous glint in his eye.

She studied him intensely for a long moment, scrutinizing every inch of his face. Her face, which normally bore some hint of a smirk, was contorted with barely contained fury. Her lip twitched suddenly, transforming into a sneer. She turned on her heel and walked off without a word.

Hawke exhaled deeply as he watched her go, and then turned to Anders.

"Any idea how we get rid of this stuff without accidentally dying or unleashing a plague on the city?" he asked wryly.

The older mage smiled. "When in doubt? Fireball," Anders replied.

"Sounds reasonable," Hawke agreed.

"Maker," Carver groaned, "I swear, every mage I meet is a pyromaniac," he muttered , moving away from the crate.

"Best if we don't stand too close," Anders advised, following Carver back up the ramp of the warehouse dock. "The second this stuff hits the air it will be toxic, but it will mix with the fumes and smoke of the fire within seconds. As long as we're far enough away, we'll only get a nasty odor, but no ill effects," the mage explained clinically.

Hawke nodded as Carver's face went pale. "And if we aren't far enough away?"

Anders shrugged, "Well, you'll only have about two breathes to curse the two of us before you die so," he grinned, "I guess you should get any lingering feelings about us off your chest Carver."

Carver glowered angrily, but, much to Hawke's surprise, said nothing.

Anders inhaled deeply, forming a fireball on the palm of his hand and he lobbed it effortlessly onto the crate, which erupted into flames.

The mages watched as the crate turned to ash before quelling the flames with ice. Hawke watched the entire thing mutely, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"We better check it before we leave," he said quietly.

Anders nodded and moved towards the crates, "Looks like all of that blighted stuff is gone. No vials are intact anyway," Anders yelled back up the raft.

Hawke nodded quietly.

"Thank you brother," Carver said quietly.

Hawke's eyebrows pulled together tightly and he looked at his younger brother skeptically, "For what?"

"I know we need this expedition, but it's nice to know that now that we have a choice, we won't be criminals," Carver admitted quietly, his jaw clenching.

Hawke grunted and nodded silently in agreement.

"That pirate- Isabela-knows you're a mage…she might-"

"She won't," Hawke said evenly.

"You sound pretty sure of that," Carver scoffed less than convinced.

"She won't," Hawke repeated, unsure of where his confidence in the pirate was coming from. She could easily run to the Templars just to spite him. He ran his hand through his hair inhaling deeply; she could turn Anders in as well.

Anders returned to them, wiping his hands on his pants, "We should go," the former Warden said darkly, "Someone had to have heard the ruckus we made to get in," he glanced anxiously towards the door, as if expecting to see the guards, or Templars, or both charge through at second.

The Hanged Man:

Isabela burst through the door, feeling an unfathomable amount of fury boiling in her veins. That no good, thieving, self centered, preachy, hypocritical, rat bastard. She slammed her coin down hard on the table and Coriff looked at her in alarm.

"What?" she snapped. He hopped to attention, instantly sliding a drink her way, the contents sloshing slightly over the side of the glass as he hastily delivered it.

She inhaled the shot quickly and gestured for him to give her another. He complied readily, watching her wearily.

The former pirate captain sighed and buried her head in her hands. What was she supposed to tell Martin? She could tell him the dock number of where they had found the crates, but, her fist clenched angrily, Hawke had probably moved them or sold them himself or…that double crossing bastard.

It was her own blighted fault, she knew that. He'd been so willing and eager to help when she'd teased and flirted and been the damsel in distress, but the second he saw a real opportunity to make some coin, he was willing to screw over whomever was in his way.

Typical.

She finished off her shot and glared at Coriff till he gave her another. She chuckled humorlessly. For some reason, she'd had this feeling, this whispering little lingering thought that there was something different about the young mage. That he might just surprise her, in a good way, for once. Isabela sighed in exhaustion. She should've known better by now than to think that about anyone.

Hawke wasn't special.

Screw Hawke.

No…the opposite of that….shit…what was the opposite of that?

Her index finger idly spun a lose strand of hair around her fingers as she quickly felt the effects of the alcohol begin to move through her system.

Her eyes drift across the now bustling bar and landed on a trio of guards. And she giggled as a thought occurred to her. She could turn him in. She could waltz right over to those guards and tell them all about witnessing a scary blood mage apostate kick a bunch of puppies around Lowtown. He'd been so careless -had trusted her with his life essentially- by letting her in on that secret. She took a sip of her drink gleefully, a thrilling novel length tale about the horrible apostate already on the tip of her tongue when another thought struck her.

Shit. Hawke knew that she could rat him out and had still refused to help Martin. She pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. Her inebriation suddenly felt very problematic; what was he playing at? It made no logical sense…Isabela swore softly to herself and ordered another shot. Hawke wasn't a fool. He was obviously playing at something; how was he benefitting from this? She took the shot from Coriff and swirled it in circles, her eyes still firmly on the group of guards. Until she knew what he was playing at, she wouldn't turn him in. She finished off the shot and slammed it down on the counter top before jumping off her stool. She swayed slightly as she turned and headed for her room, making a resolution as she went. As soon as she woke, she was going to ask around about Hawke. She was going to find out what the backstabbing bastard was playing at.


	14. Dwarves are Sprinters

_Ok Ok, I know I know...I'm horrible. I'm sorry guys. I've had a lot going on, but I promise, my dedication to updating and finishing this hasn't changed. I've just been a bit busy. _

_Nothing like new DLC to spark an update though hey!_

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><p>"Alright you know what Hawke?" Varric panted, his hands going to his knees, "I give up. Dwarves…are sprinters," he explained, his words made emphatic by his heavy breathing. "I'm never climbing Sundermount with you again," the dwarf promised, his eyes dancing with amusement despite his obvious struggle to breath.<p>

Despite being nearly out of breath himself Hawke laughed heartily, "Come on Varric, you could write an epic about this!" he goaded.

"Some stories? They just aren't worth it," Varric replied glibly.

"This one might be," Aveline assured him, wiping a strand of hair from her face.

Varric chuckled, "Hawke already mentioned the Dragon lady Aveline," he grinned. "It's a cute tale," he added, obviously skeptical.

"It wasn't all that cute in person dwarf," Carver muttered.

"Hm, you know Hawke, if Juniors in on this, I might just have to believe you after all," the dwarf scratched his chin thoughtfully.

Hawke laughed, "You believe Carver over me Varric? I'm hurt," he teased.

"Halt Shem!" An authoritative voice called out.

Hawke and his companions tensed. Hawke's hand curled around his 'walking staff', grateful for his ability to feel the mana flowing just below the surface of his skin.

Carver moved instantly for his sword and an arrow went zipping by, grazing his shoulder. He screamed and clutched his shoulder. Aveline moved quickly towards Carver, pulling bandages form her pack.

"Easy there Shems. What are you doing out here?" a dark haired elf asked, emerging from the shadow of a large tree.

Hawke surveyed him quickly. He had no bow-no weapons at all actually-meaning that this elf wasn't alone. Meaning any number of elves could be hidden in the trees surrounding them.

"That's hardly a warm greeting," Hawke said lightly, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly manner.

The elf's face remained blank.

"You're approaching a Dalish camp Shem," the elf said levelly, "I suggest you turn around and run back to your city."

"We've been looking for your camp," Aveline cut in angrily. She turned her attention back to bandaging Carvers arm.

The elf's face darkened and he turned back to Hawke, "I suggest you take your people and go. Your kind are not welcome among the Dalish."

Hawke sighed, "Well we didn't exactly come here for vacation," he glared at the elf. "We are here on behalf of…." Hawke tested the name on his lips before speaking aloud, "Asha'Bellanar…was it?" He turned back to Aveline. Aveline rolled her eyes and nodded. Hawke turned back to the elf, "Yes. Asha'Bellanar sent us."

The elf's face went white.

"I'm suppose to speak to your Chaser? No that's not right...Speaker or Seeker-no, that's the Chantry- or-Oh, Keeper, yes, your Keeper," Hawke nodded.

"Marethari," Aveline clarified, glaring at Hawke.

The elf was staring at them, his lips pressed tightly together. "Pol! Alert the Keeper," he ordered, his voice icy.

**Later:**

"Deliver the amulet," Hawke muttered, his chest heaving, "I brought it to the Dalish…so why am I walking even further up the mountain?" he muttered irritably.

Varric turned his head to look at the mage, his eyebrow raised in amusement, but he said nothing.

Hawke wiped his hand across the back of his neck, grimacing as he felt sweat stick to his fingers. They'd been climbing Sundermount all day, and now the Keeper Marethari wanted them to do some very cryptic ritual with the amulet that had been given to him by a woman/dragon who turned into a dragon/woman.

To say warning bells were going off in his head would be an understatement.

And now they were hiking up even more of the mountain to find the Keeper's apprentice person. He sighed in irritation. It wasn't just dwarves who weren't built for climbing mountains, it was everyone. Who had the brilliant idea to make ground vertical? It wasn't right.

Up the path a ways, an elven woman sat, hunched over. She popped to her feet spryly and approached them, a strange mix of fear and giddy excitement in her eyes.

"You must be the ones the Keeper told me about. Aneth ara," her accent was thick and she smiled at them nervously.

"Try not to be an ass just this once brother," Carver muttered from behind him. Hawke raised an eyebrow and shot a withering glare towards his brother; he hadn't done anything to deserve that treatment from Carver. Not today at least. Carver's cheeks were glowing a soft red and he was staring at the short elf intently. Hawke bit back a chuckle as the realization hit. Carver liked her; oh maker, he was going to have fun with that.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the elf babbled, "I didn't ask you your name! Unless…it's not rude to ask a human their name is it?"

"No, it's not rude at all," Carver smiled at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you..uh…"

"I'm Merrill, which you probably knew already. I'm rambling," she paused a half second to take a breath, "Sorry."

Hawke felt his lips pull back into an amused grin. "It's nice to meet you Merril," he nodded his head in what he hoped was a universal gesture of hello. "I'm Garrett, this is my brother Carver," he turned towards Varric and Aveline, "Varric is the lovely dwarf here who refuses to button his shirt, and Aveline is the one with red hair."

"You're very tall," Merrill said quietly, staring at Aveline.

"Thanks Daisy," Varric grinned teasingly.

"What? No I didn't mean-" Merrill's cheeks went bright red and she snapped her mouth shut. Carver glared murderously at Varric.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.

"Right," Hawke said slowly, "Well, we best get on our way with this ritual…thing…"

Carver's eyes traveled up the side of Sundermount and his lips curled in distaste. He growled. "I don't climb mountains," he declared irritably.

Hawke smirked, "No dear brother, you simply whine your way up them." Carver's face turned beat red, but he followed after Hawke silently.

**Later:**

"And now the dead are rising up right out of the ground. Terrific," Hawke muttered, shooting another bolt at a skeletal warrior as it trudged towards Carver.

"Oh, come on now Hawke! This is fun!" Varric hollered, loading Bianca with another bolt. Firing, it hit another zombified warrior square between the eyes, dropping it dead...again. "Let's make this more interesting. I bet you a silver that I can kill more of these things then you," Varric challenged lightly as he reached for another bolt.

Hawke grinned. "I'm at seven dwarf. You better catch up." Varric's eyes widened in shock momentaril, before he chuckled and resumed threading an arrow into his quiver.

Mindful of his limited energy Hawke resumed firing lightning bolts at the skeletons, counting his kills in his head-and keeping an eye on the prone-to-cheating dwarf firing arrows next to him.

Eight.

He wondered if Isabela would forgive him for not helping Martin.

A skelton rose within arms reach and swung its rusted sword down towards Hawke. Hawke parried with the end of his staff and thrust the sharp blade at the end through the creatures ribcage, locking his staff inside it. Twisting his staff, the creature crumbled at his feet dead for the second time in its life.

Nine.

He wondered why it mattered to him so much.

Aveline was moments away from being flanked. Summoning an extra font of energy, he drew the monster into a crushing prism and watched it writhe helplessly as its bones were ground to dust.

Ten.

He realized Merrill was actually a mage. He grinned as he realized how uncomfortable that fact would make Carver.

He threw a boulder towards an archer lining up a shot on Varric. The smaller man glared at him. "I had that one Hawke," Varric pouted good naturedly.

His companions were panting by the time the fight was over. Hawke slouched against a boulder and leaned his head back, inhaling deeply to fight off a wave of mana exhaustion.

"Search the bodies," Hawke ordered, leaning down to search skeletal archer at his feet. The others did as he said, leaning over various corpses. The helmet on the things head was useless and putrid smelling, but, fishing his hand deep into the quiver he found 5 coppers and three blue vials. Hawke grinned as he rolled the glass vials between his fingers. Lyrium. Why the creature had lyrium he had no idea, but he wasn't about to question his luck. He slipped the vials into a pouch on his belt. If he could find a couple more of these he would be golden. He moved to another corpses, but other than a copper there was nothing of value on it. The others concluded their searches as well, without much to show for it.

The group moved towards a small stream to wash their hands of the filth and stench of the bodies.

"So let me get this straight Merrill," Hawke said, a grin playing across his face as the elf looked at him in almost wide eyed panic, "You-a mage-want to go to Kirkwall?" The girl nodded and Hawke cocked an eyebrow, "You do know what Templars are don't you?"

The elf nodded again, "They're the knights who wear the shiny armor and the boxes on their heads," she gestured to a helmet.

Hawke pursed his lips then nodded his head, "That's a fairly apt description," he agreed dryly.

"They're also the ones who want to capture you and anyone like you," Carver pointed out. Hawke glanced sideways towards his brother, thrown off guard by the genuine concern in his baby brothers voice; judging by the way Aveline and Varric would looking at Carver Hawke wasn't the only one thrown.

Merrill shrugged, a flash of sadness passing through her eyes, "Even if my clan doesn't agree, I must do this," she said passionately, though she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than any of them. "It's my duty as the First," she stared at Hawke, inhaling deeply, as if willing herself to stay committed to the choice. No one said anything for a long moment. "Let's just…move on," Merrill said quietly, trudging forward.

As the group trudged on Varric jogged up next to Hawke, "So, how many did you get Hawke?"

Hawke smiled. "Thirteen," he smiled as the dwarf pouted. "You?"

"Twelve," the dwarf muttered angrily as Hawke held out a palm. Varric fished his hand into a pouch and flipped a silver to the young mage.

Hawke chuckled, "Paying for my chunk of the expedition with your money? Priceless," he teased.

Varric grinned and stroked Bianca's handle in a way that didn't seem entirely innocent, "Laugh all you want Hawke, next time we fight, I'll win that coin back, just watch," he said confidently.

Hawke felt his smile stretch further across his lips, "I guess we'll just have to see Varric," Hawke agreed.

Varric's eyes narrowed, "Don't lose my coin Hawke," he threatened lightly.

"We have a problem," Carver called from near the front of the party.

"What is it?" Hawke asked as he joined his brothers side.

"A barrier of some sort," Carver muttered, pushing his fingers against the air in front of him, showing Hawke the blue ripples that came from the contact.

"Oh, I can fix that," Merrill smiled happily, glad to be of use. Before anyone could react, she pulled a dagger from her hip and sliced it quickly-deeply-across her palm. As Merrill raised her hand towards the barrier, blood oozed from the wound. Her bloodied fingers came to rest against the barrier. The blue light flickered briefly and then faded.

"Well, that was a surprise," Hawke said, struggling to keep his voice light.

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><p><em>Oh boy. So...Merrill...I just don't get her. I'm sorry :(. Trying to write her totally contributed to the long wait between chapters I'm sad to say. Chances are she wont' show up all that much, but we shall see. <em>

_Anyways. I'm hoping people are still interested in this fic. I think they are...I get a lot of notifications about story alerts at least. _

_If I get some reviews the next chapter could be up tomorrow! Promise:) And! It's a fairly long chapter. _

_Enjoy and Review!_


	15. Lord of the Coin

_You guys were so great and reviewed, even though I kinda took a super long time updating, so I thought I'd give you another chap. _

_Unless you count Sebastian (And, frankly, I barely do-since you don't get him till the second act) I think this chapter officially means that all companions will be present and accounted for._

_And, for the record, I don't actually hate Carver...I promise._

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><p>"<em>I know what I'm doing. The spirit helped us didn't it?" <em>

Merrill's voice still rang in Hawke's ears as they made their way down Sundermount. Hawke glanced nervously over at the elven blood mage as she deftly leapt over a boulder. He hated the idea of repressing mages, but more than anything, he hated blood magic. And he wasn't keen on bringing a blood mage back into the city. Merrill didn't seem to have a mean bone in her body, but a demon was made of mean bones. And one day, she wouldn't be able to control the 'nice' demon who she'd made a deal with. Then what?

His grip tightened around his staff. Someone-probably him- would be forced to fight the poor girl and kill the demon and by association her-or they would die trying. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the churning feeling of foreboding in his stomach. Blood magic never ended well. Ever.

Varric came to stand near Hawke. "Hawke, where exactly are we putting our bubbly little blood mage?"

"Huh?"

"Daisy. She doesn't have anywhere to stay," Varric gestured towards the girl who was –blatently-frolicking.

"Oh," Hawke murmured, running a hand through his messy hair.

"She can stay with us," Carver declared, coming up besides his brother.

Hawke stared at him incredulously as Varric bit back a smirk, "Where?" he asked finally.

Carver's cheeks flushed angrily. "She can take our room. We'll sleep on the floor."

"With the dog?"

"Is that a problem?" Carver puffed.

Hawke shrugged, "Well everyone in Kirkwall already thinks we smell like wet dog, so why not," he said glibly, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"She can stay with me, Junior," Varric cut in before Carver could make a haughty reply.

Carver's face went pale, "With you?"

Varric's grin widened as Carver shifted uncomfortably, "My room at the Hanged Man is bigger and nicer than your family's hovel Junior-no offense Hawke."

"None taken."

" And in the morning, I'll help her find a place of her own at the alienage."

"But at the Hanged Man…they'll think that you…that the two of you are-" Carver's cheeks reddened more.

"Well, I have to pretend to with someone Junior," he chuckled, "It's not like there are any dwarven women around," he added under his breath. Carver stalked away in a huff as Hawke bit back a laugh.

They made the rest of the trek in silence, sneaking back into Lowtown when the sun was still down.

"I'm sorry Hawke, but I must go," Aveline said quietly, turning down Varric's offer for drinks as they approached the Hanged Man, "I have guard duty in..," she looked up at the sky, the first ray of light was just beginning to peak over the horizon, "way too soon," she finished wryly. She nodded curtly to Carver and Varric before turning to Hawke. "I'm glad we finally have that witches bargain off our backs Hawke," her mouth twitched upwards in the faintest of smiles "It's a relief to finally put that behind me." Her eyes darted quickly towards an oblivious Merrill, who was staring wide eyed at the tall buildings of the city, and her gaze darkened, "Keep an eye on that one," she said quietly.

Hawke forced a grin to his face, "And here I thought you'd been working with mages so well. What could you possibly be nervous about?" he teased.

She glared at him. "I trust you Hawke. Not mages…especially not blood mages," she glanced at Merrill again and then without another word started towards Hightown and the barracks.

Hawke watched her leave for a moment before turning back to the rest of his companions. "I think we'll be off as well," he ran his hand across his neck, massaging the sore muscles there. "It's been a long day," he smiled wearily.

"Agreed," Varric grinned, turning to Merrill, "Daisy, you're coming with me." The elf tore her eyes away from the buildings and moved to Varric's side.

"The Hanged Man," she read the sign above the tavern and cocked her head to the side, "He doesn't look like he's having much fun does he?"

Hawke felt his jaw slacken slightly. She wasn't even joking. He snapped his jaw shut and grinned brightly, "I think that depends on how much he valued his neck." As Merrill stared at him in confusion Carver elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Ow,"he muttered, casting a murderous glare towards his brother.

As they started to depart, a voice stopped them. "Hey, down here!" A dwarf raced to them, and then, as he came to a stop, panting, he used his beard to fan himself.

"You're the human Athenril told me about…the one looking for work," the wide eyed dwarf stared up at him expectantly.

Hawke's jaw clenched involuntarily at the mention of his former employer, "I might be," he said curtly.

"I need some help…some product of mine has been…misplaced," Hawke cocked his head quizzically, "The men I hired to deliver it…decided not to," the dwarf finished lamely, shrugging his shoulders.

Hawke scratched his head, "What exactly did they steal from you?"

"What! Did I say steal…they didn't steal…," the dwarf bit his lip, "They seemed like such nice smugglers too…they smiled and everything," he rubbed his chin nervously. "The goods are valuable however and my client wants them rather badly…you know how the Templars are," he shrugged again.

"Lyrium. You're smuggling lyrium?" Hawke quirked an eyebrow in surprise; for a fleeting second he considered the logistics of finding, taking, and hiding the lyrium for himself before he shook off the notion. It was wrong and besides, his hand went unconsciously to the pouch on his belt, he had enough lyrium to last a while now. He swallowed thickly, trying to wash away the guilty aftertaste the thought had left in his mouth. "I'll do it," he agreed quickly.

"We will? Oh, lovely," Carver muttered irritably. "And here I thought we were trying to get money so we could avoid the Templars," he hissed as he crossed his arms across his chest.

**Later: Smugglers House: Alienage**

"Well Merrill," Hawke grinned, wiping blood that wasn't his own from his forehead, "I think we've found you a house," he smiled down at the wide eyed elf. "You'll stay with Varric tonight, and tomorrow…Carver will help you clean the place up."

"Yes, we'd be happy to-hey!" Carver glared at his brother. "We'll both come by and help you out Merrill," Carver promised as he smiled warmly at the young girl. Hawke sighed and rolled his eyes. Maker, he was like a puppy. If it wasn't so funny, it would be sad.

"Hawke!" Varric called from the other room. The three of them rushed in, "The crate is empty," Varric's face contorted angrily, "This was a waste of bloody time," he added, kicking the crate over for good measure.

"Well, we did get the house," Hawke supplied lightly. "And it's such a lovely place. I mean, have you seen those curtains?" He pointed towards the grim windows, flakes of…something…were keeping the sun out. Definitely not curtains.

Varric glared up at him, clearly trying not to smile, "It's too blighted early for that Hawke," the dwarf grumbled, staring at out the window at the rising sun. "We've been up all night-and not the fun kind of up all night."

"Well look at it this way, this kind of up all night doesn't end with a hangover," Hawke offered, smiling for the grumpy dwarf. They started towards the door of the hovel.

"Heh, I'll take a hangover over this any day," he grunted but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

"Ah, see there's the spirit Varric," Hawke cheered as he flung open the hovel door.

"That's not the elf," the dim witted voice of a mercenary called.

"Oh Andraste ass," Carver swore. They were completely surrounded; a good twenty men were standing between them and any sort of exit.

"Hawke?"

"Yes Varric?"

"You still have my coin right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because when this fights over, I'm taking it back," the dwarf growled, quickly pulling Bianca from his back and tagging one of the mercenaries between the eyes.

"Ooooh," Merrill squealed in delight, "Things are about to get exciting!"

And Hawke watched as-much to his horror-the young elf pranced into the fray.

**Later:**

Hawke leaned against the wall of a hovel and allowed himself to slide down it, till he was sitting next to his brother. "That's it," he puffed, running a hand through his hair which was now sticky with sweat, "I'm retiring. Right now," he sent his brother a sideways grin.

"Not a bad idea, quitting while we're ahead," Carver agreed dryly. The two brothers stared out at the field in front of them. The once brown dirt was now streaked and stained with the blood and bodies of well over twenty mercenaries. Varric was sifting through the pockets of the dead and Merrill…seemed to be chasing a butterfly. Of course. Carver followed his brothers line of sight. "Merrill can hold her own. We should keep her around, she's useful," he said casually.

"You are actually in favor of us keeping an unrepentant blood mage around?"

"Well she's not really a blood mage," Carver said lamely.

"Carver, she slit open her wrists and talks to demons," Hawke' s grin turned wary.

"Well it's not like she turns into one of those creatures..." Hawke stared at him incredulously. "You know, with the hunched backs and the crazy eyes." Hawke continued to stare. "You know, the ones that make those gurgley noises!"

"Right, she isn't yet possessed by the demon she's talking to," Hawke clarified, crossing his arms in irritation. After all these years Carver still didn't seem to understand even the most basic concepts about magic.

"I just mean-"

"Hawke! How many did you kill?" Varric called, pulling an arrow from the skull of a dead mercenary.

Hawke winced and reached for his money pouch," Only 8 I'm afraid Varric," Hawke smiled. He'd been taking it easy in the battle, trying to keep from feeling mana withdrawl…not that he succeeded, if his pounding headache was any indication.

"Heh, 10. I knew I'd get my coin back," Varric sauntered over and easily caught the coin Hawke flipped to him.

"Now don't go and spend that Varric, I'll get it back next time," Hawke vowed, grinning playfully at his friend.

"Sure you will Hawke," Varric waved his hand dismissively and pocketed the coin.

"You can't have killed 10," Merrill's chipper voice chimed in suddenly.

"What was that Daisy?" Varric asked, stuffing his arms over his chest defensively.

"You only pulled out 9 bolts," Merrill pointed out innocently.

Hawke grinned at Varric, "Varric, you wouldn't be exaggerating on your kills would you now?" he teased.

"What? Me? Hawke, never?" Varric feigned offense, grinning madly, "I kicked a tenth one in the head."

"In the head you say?" Carver scoffed, "Varric, at best, your entire leg comes up to my knee," Carver chuckled smugly.

"Well you better watch your knees Junior," Varric muttered angrily.

"Drinks later?" Carver asked.

"Wouldn't miss um," Varric chuckled.

Suddenly another mercenary appeared at the entrance of the alienage. The companions sprang to their feet, ready to fight, but before either the mercenary or their merry band of misfits could advance, the merc toppled over dead, leaving a glowing elf standing over the body. The elf surveyed them silently before speaking. "I apologize. When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so…" the elf took in the battlefield quickly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked a the scattered beaten bodies of the would be assailants, "numerous," he finished, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't worry," Hawke shrugged, instantly feeling at ease, "We do this sort of thing fairly often."

"I'm glad to hear it," the elf said, "These hunters were attempting to reclaim lost property for a mage of the Imperium….the property being me. Thankfully however, Anso chose wisely," the elf offered Hawke a twisted semi smile, as if he was uncomfortable with the way his face felt making the expression. "If I may ask…what was in the chest?"

Hawke shrugged, "Just air I'm afraid."

The elf made a slight growling noise of disappointment, "I suppose it was too much to hope for."

"Well, as disappointing as this excursion was, I'm glad we could be of help," Hawke nodded as a goodbye.

"Well, it may not be over yet," the broody elf said, "My former master accompanied these hired swords to the city. I must confront him before he flees," the elf hesitated, "I could use your help," he added, shifting uncomfortably between his feet, as if he was as equally unaccustomed to asking for aid as he was to smiling. If he was a slave, that was probably true, Hawke realized darkly.

Hawke glanced apologetically towards the exhausted Varric, "We have no love for slavers," Hawke affirmed, "lead the way."

The elf's eyebrows rose and disappeared under his white hair, "I-Thank you. I will find a way to repay you, I swear it. His estate is in Hightown," the elf added, beckoning them to follow him.

"Hrm….well at least there might be some coin in this now," Varric grumbled. "Assuming we can survive facing a mage of the Imperium. No real problem; you're up for it aren't' ya Hawke? Daisy?"

"Up? Did I miss something dirty?" Merrill questioned excitedly.

Hawke grinned, and forced his shaking hand into a fist to calm it. Sure, he could handle it. He might have to pause for some lyrium first…but sure, a Tevinter mage would be no problem.

**Later:**

Hawke put his hand on Varric's shoulder as they exited Danarius's house. "I want my coin back dwarf," Hawke teased lightly.

"What?"

"I killed 13 of those shade demon things," Varric started to protest, "You killed 7."

"Demon's are magical creatures; of course you had an advantage!" Varric cried angrily.

"I don't want any of your excuses, hand it over," Hawke ordered, stretching out his hand to accept the coin.

Varric huffed, but reached for his coin purse like a good sport. "You'll pay for this Hawke."

"Yes, well whatever," Hawke shrugged, "I'm petty and I hate losing," he waved his fingers, coaxing the coin from Varric's hand. Hawke grinned as the coin entered his palm and he brought it up to his face gleefully, "Oh look, it's just as pretty as I remember it," he gloated.

"It never ends….magic is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul…and now I find myself in the company of yet another mage," the elves voice was low and angry.

Taken aback Hawke wheeled towards the elf. Hawke sighed, irritated with himself; he'd tried hard to be careful around the elf, using his staff whenever possible and only using spells like crushing prison-and he'd only used fireball once, and the elf hadn't even been looking! Hawke raised an eyebrow as his face reflexively twisted into a crooked grin. "They say 'Thank you' funny where you're from," he remarked lightly.

The elf's lips pulled back into a sneer, "I saw you casting spells in there. Tell me what manner of mage are you? What do you want?" The elf's hands were twitching upwards slowly, towards the giant sword on his back.

"Well I'd really like to be King of Fereldan…but I hear the positions been filled," Hawke said glibly, feigning disappointment.

"We're not all the same-or deserving of your scorn," Merrill chimed in, her voice darker and more passionate than Hawke had ever heard from the small unassuming elf.

The former slaves' arm lowered slowly, "I apologize if I seem ungrateful, for I am not. My name is Fenris," he started to bow, instinctively, and stopped himself, "And though I did not find my former master, you did me a great service and I…"he hesitated again, his lip curling in distaste, "Am in your debut mage," he admitted.

"You can call me Hawke, and I appreciate the sentiment," Hawke nodded his head stiffly in thanks.

"Very well, for now, if you need me, I shall be here," Fenris grinned darkly as he turned back towards the mansion, "If Danarius wishes to have his property back he will have to fight me eventually." The elf chuckled.

"Right, well…that's nice."

As they left the housing district of Hightown Varric chuckled, "You sure know how to pick um Hawke," the dwarf teased.

"Say another word and you'll never see your coin again dwarf."

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><p><em>Yay! Another chapter is done!<em>

_The next chapter got seriously long. Like, double the typical chapter length (And this one was fairly long too!) I was thinking of cutting it in half, but I decided not too. :)_

_That chapter can probably be up fairly quickly too if reviews keep coming :) _

_Thank you guys for your continued support and interest in the fic by the way. I know long waits between chapter updates can kill interest and momentum, so I'm glad that some of you are sticking with it. _

_Enjoy and Review!_


	16. Birthright

_Alright, here's a nice long chapter for ya. Happy weekend!_

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><p>Even as Hawke staggered up the stairs he could hear his mother arguing with Gamlen.<p>

"Great," Carver muttered heatedly, "Wonder what's happened this time? The way those two go at it makes us look like the civilized ones."

"My children were in servitude for over a year!" mother screamed, her voice rising so they could hear it outside. The sound of a vase shattering against a wall was followed by Gamlen's girly scream, and it sent both brothers sprinting for the door.

Gamlen was drenched in water, the shattered remains of –what once had been-a cheaply constructed vase scattered around his feet.

"They should be nobility!" Leandra hissed, her shoulders back and her nose high.

Gamlen's lips curled into a sneer, "Well if wishes were poppy we'd all be dreaming Leandra," he retorted, kicking the shards of the vase away from his feet.

"You mean this isn't a dream?" Hawke queried, plastering a grin across his face as he attempted to redirect some of the anger in the room. He looked around the hovel, "My castle was looking a little run down," he added thoughtfully.

Gamlen stared at him in wide eyed horror, "And here I thought you'd run off with an abomination Leandra…not a court jester," he hissed, glaring levelly at his nephew.

Hawke's jaw twitched as he fought the sudden impulse to sock his uncle across the face.

"Your mother," he sneered, "Was supposed to marry Comte de Launcet, but instead she ran off with that Fereldan dog," he turned back to Leandra, "You don't get to stay the favorite when you do that," he added, crossing his arms across his chest and matching Leandra's withering stare.

"You had best remember your manners uncle. That Fereldan dog was our father," Hawke added, his voice low and dangerous. Carver grunted his agreement.

Leandra held out her hand to silence him. "Where is father's will Gamlen?"

"It's not here alright. It was read, it went in the vault," he said quickly, waving his hand dismissively.

Hawke quirked an eyebrow, "That touched a nerve. Something in there you don't want us to see dearest uncle?" he smiled.

"Nothing," Gamlen said calmly, as he pulled his facial features into a neutral poker face, "But you won't be reading the bloody thing. It's still locked up in the estate-and that's long out of my hands…." He turned back towards his sister, "As I've told Leandra at least fifty times already."

"What kind of daft bastard leaves that behind?" Carver chimed in, a hint of accusation in his voice.

"Who bought the estate Gamlen? Perhaps I could speak to them," Leandra offered diplomatically.

Gamlen shook his head firmly, "No one you know sister. Get used to Lowtown. It's where we are going to be for a long time," he stated angrily before brushing past them and out the door.

Leandra sighed heavily as she watched the door slam shut behind her brother. The three remaining members of the Hawke family remained silent for a long moment, the only sound came from their Mabari, Shep, who was obviously distressed by the situation. Quietly, Hawke moved over to rub the beast behind the ear, earning himself a sloppy lick on the hand from the dog.

"Sometimes," Leandra began shakily, "I'm glad that Bethany isn't still with us," she whispered, looking pointedly at Hawke, who had to use all his willpower to meet his mother's gaze, "I'm glad she doesn't have to live like this…like animals," she finished, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. She excused herself quickly, rushing into the bedroom and slamming the door.

Carver plopped to the ground next to Hawke and Shep. "Maker…what a mess. I want to make things better for mother," he hesitated, "But some of what Gamlen said…well I'm having a hard time hating him." Hawke felt his jaw tense; he had a feeling he knew where this conversation was headed. "Playing caretaker for someone else's life…stuck in their shadow, that's no way to live."

"And there it is," Hawke muttered, wiping his hands as he hopped back to his feet.

"Look, if you want to join the fight over who lost the most, fine," Carver huffed, and for a moment, Hawke wasn't sure if they were still talking about Leandra and Gamlen or the two of them, "But we never lived here. Mother even gave me her old key to try and stir something. But I didn't know Grandfather and finding his will doesn't matter to me."

Hawke ran a hand through his hair, "You want a connection? This is where we'll find one."

Carver chuckled, "The once might Amell's? A bunch of slavers are squatting on that dusty glory."

Hawke cocked his head, "What have you heard?"

Carver's face curled in distaste, "Uncle's a chatty drunk. He was up to his neck and signed everything over. That's who has the estate. Slavers. Apparently the most extensive wine cellar in all of Kirkwall is now a slave highway from the under city," Carver scoffed, "Some legacy."

Hawke felt his fists tighten slightly. Forcing them to relax, he sighed, "Well that sounds like an arrangement that could stand to change," he smiled mischievously at his brother.

"And if it does? We still are just Fereldan dogs; nobody important enough to merit living there."

"Baby steps Carver," Hawke cautioned.

"All right brother. If they key works, we'll clear the estate from the dark town up," Carver smiled.

Hawke grinned as another thought struck him, "And I know just who will help us." Hawke headed for the door.

"Wait, we're going right now?" Carver sounded horrified, "But we just got in!"

Hawke ran a hand over his face, Carver's words reminded him of how tired he was. He paused for a second, and managed to catch a few of his mother's sniffled sobs through the thin wood door. "Well, I doubt either of us would get much sleep in there," Hawke muttered. "You're welcome to stay for a bit. I'll meet you in the under city in two hours."

**Hightown: Danarius's Estate:**

The front door of the mansion was unlocked when Hawke came to it.

"Fenris!" Hawke called out, but got no reply. He stepped carefully over a trip wire laid across the entrance to one of the rooms. "Fenris!" he called again.

Suddenly, he heard a scream and a blur was charging at him. Dodging quickly to the side, Hawke stumbled into the empty fireplace as Fenris, his sword still raised, came to a quick stop.

"Hawke?" The mage sounded surprised, but quickly sheathed his weapon and bent down to help the mage up. "I'm sorry I-…I was over eager. When I heard the door open I thought-I hoped- it was Danarius," he scratched his ear uncomfortably.

Hawke shrugged indifferently and rubbed his hands together, "I'm still in one piece, so we'll call this one no foul," he smiled.

"I did not expect you to return so quickly," Fenris admitted. His gaze turned suspicious, "In need of my help already mage?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. It was getting difficult not to be offended, what with all of the animosity being thrown his way. He inhaled deeply; trying to remember that Fenris had been the slave of an Imperium mage for…some good amount of time and in fact, didn't even remember anything before he'd been branded with lyrium by his former masters. "Fenris…I'm not in the business of making people-anyone- do things against their will."

Fenris seemed unconvinced, "No, I suppose few are…until they have the power to do so."

"I didn't come here to requisition your help. But Carver and I have a project and you were the first person I thought of."

"Given that I just saw you three hours ago that seems logical," Fenris said dryly.

Hawke smiled; so there was a lighter side to the elf. "My family, used to be nobility in the city. Our uncle sold the estate however….to slavers," Hawke watched as the elves face darkened. "We were rather unhappy to find that out, my brother and I; thought we'd chase them out. And I suspected you might want to join us," Hawke grinned crookedly.

Fenris returned the smile with a smirk of his own, "I think I could manage that," the elf agreed.

"Terrific, I'm so glad to hear it," Hawke said happily, clapping the elf on the back. "Maybe you can do that glowy invisible hand thing you do," The elf stared at the hand on his shoulder, his eyes like ice, and Hawke quickly removed it.

"That could also be arranged," The elf agreed good naturedly, once Hawke's hand was off his shoulder.

"I have to go, but I'll meet you in Darktown in about an hour," Hawke nodded politely, hopped over the trip wire, and headed out of the mansion.

**The Hanged Man:**

Hawke swallowed hard as he entered the Hanged Man. He'd been avoiding this place all week, or more specifically he'd been avoiding one very specific, very furious female patron.

Isabela.

When they'd last spoken, while on the job to retrieve Martin's cargo, things hadn't gone particularly well. Hawke doubted she'd be happy to see him again; it was just a matter of how unhappy she'd be. Was she 'slap him around a little'-a feat he knew she could accomplish easily-angry or was she furious enough to 'fillet his entrails and watch him bleed to death slowly' angry?

As the former pirate captain in question made eye contact with him from across the bar, Hawke was ready to bet it was the latter.

She sauntered over to him slowly and Hawke was disgusted to discover that even when she seemed beyond furious, she was still unbelievably gorgeous and sexy. She slid into a seat at the bar and patted the one next to her, gesturing for him to join her. He did, silently, and watched as she flagged Coriff over and ordered a drink.

She sipped it slowly, one pointed eyebrow raised as she surveyed him. When it became clear that she wasn't going to say anything, Hawke inhaled deeply, shakily and begain to speak.

"Isabela I-"

She began to chuckle lightly. "You don't think I'm still mad, do you?" She traced her index finger around the curve of his cheek, her nail applying just the right amount of pressure to make his throat –and other things-tighten painfully. He stared at her, completely perplexed and she laughed again. "You can't stay young looking and hold a grudge at the same time sweet thing," she smiled at him. "But the look on your face was absolutely priceless," she took a sip of her drink and chuckled again, "And it still is."

"But…" he stared at her, his jaw slackened slightly.

"But what?" she grinned mischievously.

"Martin?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, I apologized. He's moved on."

"You apologized?"

"Yes," Isabela shrugged and finished off her drink.

"And that worked?"

"Well, my apology involved sex," she admitted with a shrug.

"Ah," Hawke finally managed a smile, "I imagine that did the trick."

She raised an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth twisting in amusement, "You imagine, do you?"

Hawke grinned but said nothing. Isabela chuckled again.

"I would have been upset except…I didn't hear any word of someone shipping those vials. Not anywhere in Kirkwall," she watched him closely, "But I didn't hear any word of it reaching the guards either," she finished, smiling as she watched him squirm. "So you did screw me-and not even the fun kind- but not to make a profit or even to help your brutish female guard friend."

"Anders and I destroyed it," Hawke confirmed, nodding slightly.

Isabela nodded, "I see," she starred at him for a long moment, then shook her head sadly.

Hawke cocked his head to the side, his grin faltering, "What?"

"I didn't have you pegged as such a…spoil sport, is all Hawke," the slightest curl of her lip told him she was –at least partially-teasing.

"A spoil sport?" he feigned indignation then scratched his head, "I've actually never been called that one before," he admitted thoughtfully.

She grinned, "Well you hide it well," she admitted, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

He stared at her silently for a moment, watching the way her bright eyes were swarming with thoughts he wasn't privy too. She looked away suddenly and ordered another drink.

"Perhaps I am a…spoil sport…" he admitted after a moment, tasting the words on his tongue as he said them. He cocked his head to the side, and grinned crookedly at her, "But I feel like I owe you an explanation as to why I spoiled all your fun that day-and," he hesitated, "And why I would do it again," he admitted.

She put down her drink and stared at him skeptically.

He sighed, "In order to get into this city…to escape the Blight…my uncle arranged for Carver, Aveline, and myself to become indentured servants to a smuggler for a year."

"That giant, manish Captain of the Guard was a smuggler?" Isabela chuckled.

Hawke smiled, "It didn't suit her well…nor my brother or myself. We did things we weren't proud of because we were forced to…but now we're under no obligation to do those type of things," he looked at her, hoping his meaning was clear.

"I see," she said evenly, her face giving away no indication of her opinion or understanding of his words. He cocked his head and waited for her to say more. She sipped her drink slowly, taking her time before responding, though Hawke suspected that she was only attempting to build suspense, "I can respect your position Hawke…but all the same, I don't think I'll be trying to strum up any more business for you," she smiled wickedly.

Hawke laughed, "I think that's a fair arrangement," he agreed.

"But, seeing as I have nothing else better to do," she hesitated, "I'm still here, if you have need of my…services," she smiled suggestively.

Hawke ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply, "Well, that's actually why I came here-"

"Ah, terrific, my rooms right up stairs," she slapped her cup down.

"What?" Hawke stared at her wide eyed.

"What? Oh…you weren't talking about sex?" she pursed her lips slightly, as if considering where she'd misinterpreted his words. "I was talking about sex. Was that not clear?"

"I actually came to see if you were interested in joining my brother and I on a job. I thought you'd want to stab things with those shiny blades on your back, but if you think sex will kill them faster…." Hawke grinned, enjoying the way she squirmed; it was nice to know that even the might former pirate captain wasn't completely unflappable.

She sighed dramatically in disappointment, "I do enjoy stabbing things," she agreed. "What's the job?" she asked, reaching for her glass.

Hawke scratched his head, "Carver and I are planning on going up to our estate…"

Isabela coughed on her drink, "Your estate?"

"Well…our families former estate. Until my uncle sold it to pay off gambling debt," Hawke ran his hand through his hair and shrugged.

"I see," she said quietly, putting her lips to the rim of her cup.

"He sold it to a bunch of slavers. And apparently, they're using it to hide and transport their….cargo," he said the last word disdainfully. "Carver and I are in rare agreement that the world might be better off if a few more slavers went missing," he sighed and watched her face for the slightest reaction, "And I thought that maybe, given your less than favorable opinion on slavers, you might want to help get rid of them?"

Isabela smiled and finished off her drink, "I can think of worse ways to spend my day," she agreed, jumping to her feet.

**Darktown:**

"Ah, there you two are," Carver sighed in relief.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, "Carver, I told you I'd meet you here in two hours…"

"I know, it's just, with the Templars and…" he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders.

Hawkefelt a small genuine smile tug at the corners of his lips, "Carver…were you worried about me?" he questioned, unable to help the amusement that seeped into his voice.

Carver growled and crossed his arms. Fenris raised an eyebrow, "Are you two always like this?" he asked, his monotone voice holding only the slightest hint of amusement.

"Only on Tuesday's and Thursdays," Hawke admitted, still grinning.

"It's Friday."

"Huh, go figure," Hawke said with a shrug.

Fenris cleared his throat. "Oh, right," Hawke smiled. "Isabela, this is Fenris, Fenris, Isabela."

Fenris nodded curtly and Isabela smiled her typical suggestive smile as she eyed him up and down.

"Is this the entrance?"

Carver nodded. "These planks are hollow. It's a tight fit…we'll have to go in single file, but it should lead to right beneath the wine cellar."

"Hmm…Isabela, why don't you go in first. I'll go behind you; Fenris and Carver will guard the back."

Isabela peaked her head into the hole, "Hmm, not that I have a problem with you…coming in behind me but, there is one small flaw in your plan. It's pitch black in there."

Hawke smiled and gripped his staff tigheter, forcing the magic inside him to focus into the orb on the tip of his staff. It started to glow brightly.

Isabela grinned, "Useful," she nodded in approval.

"I thought you'd like that."

Single file, they slid along the wall until the dark passage opened up into a small cube shaped room.

"Well…this is a dead end," Carver huffed, declaring the obvious.

"Hmm…not nessecarily…" Isabela said, "Hawke…give me a boost," she ordered suddenly, slinging her daggers back onto her back.

Hawke put his hands on her waist from behind and hoisted her into the air. Isabela grinned down at him, "Not too bad for a mage," she winked down at him before turning her attention to the ceiling, rapping quietly on the tiles every few feet until she found what she was looking for. "Ah, here, this is hollow. Get me up higher Hawke," she instructed, and he lifted her to his shoulders. She shoved her body against the hollow part of the ceiling until the cellar door cracked open. Using her arms Isabela shoved the door to the side and crawled through it, "Ah, look, there's a ladder right here. Lovely," Isabela grinned, and dropped it down to the three men in the pit. Hawke scaled it quickly, moving out of the way so Fenris and Carver could join him.

"Well, now that we're all here, let's kill some slavers shall we?" Isabela said lightly, pulling her daggers off her back and spinning them deftly around her fingers.

An unsuspecting slaver chose that moment to walk into the cellar, and before anyone could format a strategy, Isabela was half way across the room cutting down the man. She chuckled merrily as he gurgled, choking on his own blood, before falling dead at her feet.

The man's dieing cry however alerted his fellow slavers, who came at them in hordes, flooding the cellar.

Fenris threw himself into the fight with an alarming amount of fervor, hacking and slashing at anything that moved, bellowing at the top of his lungs the whole time. Noticing a group of mercenaries clustered together Hawke hurled a quick lightning bolt at them, and watched as the bolt hopped from slaver to slaver, bringing the entire cluster down easily. The battle ended as quickly as it started and Hawke surveyed the damage. "Huh," he said lightly, "Looks like Uncle Gamlen didn't sell to very tough slavers now did he?"

"Let's just move on," Carver said, rolling his eyes at his brothers antics, "Mother said that the family Vault would be in the common room."

"Ooh a family vault," Isabela mused, "Full of…secrets? And booty? Oh, there must be booty," she added, grinning ear to ear as she dreamed of the wonders of the vault.

"Most likely it just has some dusty old papers in it I'm afraid," Hawke informed her, watching her face fall.

They continued down the corridor in silence.

"I enjoy a man with markings like that," Isabela said suddenly. Confused, Hawke quirked an eyebrow and turned to look at the former pirate. But instead of addressing him, she was staring intently at Fenris's biceps and the lyrium tattoo's covering them.

"You've enjoyed many, I suspect," Fenris replied dryly, his eyes dancing over her body appreciatively.

"Where I come from, they're called 'tattoos'. Sailor's get them all the time," Isabela continued, still shamelessly eyeing the elf.

"Not made of lyrium, I'd imagine," Fenris said.

Isabela raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, "Not a one," she said wistfully, "And the pictures are different-usually breasts."

"Hmm, I suppose a pair of lyrium breasts tattooed on my chest would make things better," Fenris agreed sarcastically.

"That's me. I'm a helper," Isabela chuckled, winking at the elf.

They found their way to the common room without much difficulty, mowing down the few scattered slavers they encounter easily.

"I order you to stop now," a voice hollered. Looking up, the companion saw a man, standing at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a long flowing robe and a hat with horns on it.

He looked rather ridiculous.

Fenris growled. "That's an mage of the Imperium," he told them.

"Danarius?" Hawke asked, his hand tightening around his staff.

"Sadly, no. Just another like him," the elf's lips curled in disgust.

"Leave now with your lives intact," The mage hissed, descending the stairs slowly.

Isabela laughed, unaffected by the presence of a powerful mage, "That threat might have been more effective before we mowed down all of your hired goons," she held up the blade in her right hand, still coated in slaver blood. "Or if you weren't wearing that hat," she added quietly.

"That was an unfortunate choice on your part," The mage said, hurling a fireball towards them.

Rolling out of the way, Hawke flung a fireball of his own towards the other mage, who instantly brought up an arcane shield to deflect the blow. In the seconds it took the group to get back on their feet, more slavers had poured into the chamber. Hawke parried a slavers sword attack, even as the mage hurled another fireball his way, incinerating his own man. "Get the slavers," Hawke ordered, "I'll take the one in the funny hat!"

"Fine with me," Isabela said, effortlessly flying between him and an approaching slaver.

Inhaling deeply Hawke focused on the mage across the room. He'd never actually been in a duel with another mage before; sure, he'd trained with his father and Bethany, but he'd never had to fight one to the death.

The mage sent spirit bolt after spirit bolt towards him, sending Hawke ducking and rolling out of the way. Summoning another fireball Hawke sent it towards the mage, the mage rolled away, avoiding the attack, but when the mage came up, the hem of his robe was on fire. Hurling another spirit bolt towards Hawke, he quickly ripped the flaming fabric from his robe, and then continued his onslaught, flinging attack after attack towards Hawke as the young mage scrambled for an opening.

Panting heavily, Hawke tried hard to focus on the training his father had given him. In a duel, you wanted to think a few steps ahead of your opponent. It wasn't about more power or the quanity of spells a mage could perform, it was how well the mage planned them. His heart flipped in his chest; Bethany had always been able to out think him.

Bethany…like him, she'd loved the elemental magic's. Like ice.

Hawke inhaled deeply, his throat starting to run dry from all the running and dodging he was doing. Sparing a quick glance at his companions, he was glad to see that they were mowing down the slavers, however the slavers just kept coming, pouring into the room like some endless army. As one wave died another appeared to take its place. Rolling to avoid another fireball, Hawke closed his eyes, focusing on the mana that was flowing just underneath his skin. Winter's Grasp had never been his best spell, but regardless, it was his best shot now. Popping to his feet Hawke flung the spell all around his opponent, forcing the mage to dance, weave, and parry an onslaught of ice. Hawke grinned as he saw he was successfully directing the mage to right where he wanted him. Flinging one last patch of ice the older mage stepped backwards, as Hawke knew he would, and slipped on another patch of ice, going down hard.

Grinning, despite the nearly overpowering urge to vomit thanks to mana exhaustion, Hawke mustered one last fireball, and sent it straight at the mage as the Imperium slaver pointed his staff at Hawke. The fireball engulfed the mage, killing him, just as the mages last spell his Hawke's hand. Hawke screamed out in agony as the crushing force applied to his hand made him drop to his knees and see stars. The pressure released slowly and Hawke gasped out a breath.

"Brother are you-oh Maker," Carver muttered, coming to his brothers side.

"Crushing prison," Hawke smiled weakly, his face ghost white. He held his mangled right hand in his left one and staggered slowly to his feet, swaying slightly.

"Sit back down you stupid oaf," Isabela said suddenly, rolling her eyes. She lightly pushed on his chest, easily making him sink back down to the ground. He resisted the urge to shiver; both from her touch and from the way his head was pounding from mana deprivation.

"Carver, Fenris, go find the vault. I'll…" she looked down at the badly contorted fingers of his hand and her nose curled, "I'll try and do something for your brother."

Fenris nodded and left wordlessly. Carver stood a second longer, until Hawke nodded to him that it was, in fact ok to leave his side. Nodding curtly in return Carver left them alone.

"Stupid oaf?" Hawke teased, trying his best to smile.

"Mmhmm. I saw it with my crew all the time, 'Ah it's just a scratch,'" she rolled her eyes, "They fall out of the bloody crows nest, stab themselves in petty duels and they think that they're bigger men for not treating their injuries. It's just stupid," she shook her head and hunched over his hand. "These two," she wiggled the two fingers slightly, smirking as he hissed in pain, "I can fix. This one however," she pointed to his index finger, "Well…it's a good thing you know that healer isn't it?" she grinned. Gripping one of his fixable fingers she hesitated, "This is going to hurt."

"I'll be sure to cry extra loud then," he promised.

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><p><em>I'm actually enjoying writing Fenris more than I thought I would...And speaking of Fenris...that isn't a hint of a triangle I smell brewing is it? <em>

_Enjoy and Review!_


	17. Not a Real Blood Mage

_I was going to let the last chapter sit till the weekend. But I'm halfway through writing chapter 23, so I thought I'd go ahead and post. _

_(And also casually hint at the fact that I could update fairly quickly if given some erm...incentive ;) )_

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><p>Hawke sighed as he replayed the conversation at the hovel in his head. Gamlen had been lying to them; they were supposed to be nobility. Only his uncle had lost everything that hadn't even belonged to him. Hawke's one good fist curled into a ball angrily.<p>

Gamlen told them they would never get back into their estate; they'd never get an audience with the Viscount to reclaim their land. His mother had taken that as a challenge. It had been a long time since he'd seen that look in his mother's eye, that determination and fire to accomplish something. Not since before the Blight had she looked that way. And then the conversation had turned to Bethany, and mother had looked at him with her wide tearful eyes and said that her parents would have loved all three of them.

And then she'd apologized for blaming him for Bethany's death. He felt his throat constrict painfully as he remembered the conversation.

He shuddered; trying to focus on the relief her words had given him, relief from almost two years of endless guilt over his sister's death, instead of on the nagging feeling that her words of forgiveness had somehow been a reward for his part in reclaiming their old home.

She hadn't even asked about his hand, which was tied together into a makeshift splint until he could get to Ander's clinic.

He paused near the edge of Lowtown, debating his next move. To his left was the entrance to the Alienage. Merrill had, in her best 'you kicked my puppy' voice, asked him to stop by and visit with her, and despite his hesitation to trust a blood mage-no matter how innocent and frolicky said blood mage was-he felt unable to disappoint the young elf. Reluctantly, he made his way towards the Alienage. His hand could wait a little longer.

**Merrill's House:**

"What's it like to be a pirate?"

Isabela frowned and turned to the young elf, surprised to see the mage staring at her in wide-eyed awe. Isabela smiled. "There's nothing like it in the world kitten. Freedom, adventure, and plenty of booty-both kinds," she winked.

Merrill giggled. "That sounds so exciting," the elf mused, sitting on the edge of her bed, letting her feet hang off the edge.

"What, you didn't find last night exciting Merrill?" Carver asked, smiling at the young elf.

Isabela quirked an eyebrow; that sounded interesting.

"Oh! Helping you and Hawke clear this house of slavers was very exciting," the girl blushed. "Do you do that often?" Isabela's face fell. She'd hoped Carver had meant sex. How disappointing. The Hawke men were such teases…with their bare muscular arms, chiseled jaws, deep blue eyes, and tussled raven black hair. How the eldest Hawke hadn't made his way into her bed yet she couldn't quite figure.

"All the time," Carver promised her, still grinning like a little pup.

"That's so exciting. You must be very good at swording, if you're fighting like that all the time."

Carver frowned and scratch his head, "…Swording…" he murmured.

Isabela bit back a laugh and went back to fashioning a trap. Carver's crush was highly entertaining to watch. The fact that he was so infatuated with a mage of all people only made it all the more delightful.

"Knock Knock," a voice came from the main room.

"Oh, by the Dread Wolf," Merrill sighed, "My house is never clean when people come over," she sighed. Carver was already moving to the door.

"Didn't you only get this place last night, after you killed a bunch of slavers and left their bloody, maimed bodies rotting on the floor?" Isabela glanced around the hovel; it looked pretty good. Considering.

"Well yes, but still. It's filthy," the young elf whispered to Isabela, sounding dreadfully embarrassed about the condition of her home.

Isabela chuckled, "All places in Lowtown look like this Kitten. Don't worry about it," she pat the girl on the head and went to greet Hawke. The Hawke brothers were standing close together, obviously engaged in a heated debate.

"-Typical. You can't just let me have something, you have to-"

"Carver, I didn't even know you were here," Hawke hissed.

Isabela raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat and the brothers separated quickly.

"Isabela?" Hawke folded his arms across his chest and stared at her in confusion, "What are you doing here?"

Amused by his surprise she felt a smile pull at the corners of her lips. "I ran into Varric escorting her out of the Hanged Man," she laughed and turned to Carver, "I thought they were doing it," she added, just for the delight of watching the boy's cheeks turn a deep shade of red. "Varric asked me to help Merrill set up a couple of defenses. You did just take this shack from a group of smugglers after all. If they try to retrieve it, they'll be in for a nasty surprise," she nodded her head towards a lever, disguised cleverly against the wall.

"Impressive."

The former pirate captain shrugged. "What can I say, I'm talented," she winked at the older brother, causing Carver to scoff and stalk off.

"Hello Merrill," Hawke added, nodding towards the young elf.

"Hello Hawke," the girl beamed.

"Settling in ok?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Lowtown is fascinating. Isabela and I saw a mugging on our way over," the elf explained, sounding almost giddy. Hawke raised an eyebrow; her astounding naiveté scared him more than her blood magic. Carver nudged the elf, pulling her attention back towards the young swordsman. Carver shot his brother one last withering glare before devoting his full attention to Merrill.

Isabela smirked and allowed Hawke to close the distance between them. "Has he been like that all morning?" Hawke asked quietly.

"Pretty much…unless he's talking to Merrill," Isabela chuckled.

"Ugh. Maker I had been hoping he'd be over that by now," the elder Hawke groaned.

Isabela raised an eyebrow, "What's so bad about the pup having a crush? Getting laid might be the best cure for that stick up his arse," she added as Hawke winced.

"That's definitely a cure I hadn't thought about," Hawke smiled politely. "And one that, from this point forward, I'm going to try extra hard not to think about," he added with a grimace.

"Oh come on! It isn't so bad," Isabela turned towards the pair in question and watched Carver nod along to something Merrill was babbling about that the poor boy clearly didn't understand. "They're rather cute together actually," she admitted, watching the way Hawke's face darkened. "Wait-you don't like the girl as well do you?" she asked, sounding more horrified by the prospect then she intended.

Hawke's eyebrows shot up, "No, definitely not." Seemingly oblivious to Isabela's obvious discomfort, he followed her gaze towards his brother and the young elf. He raised his hand to his face and scratched his chin. "If anything, she reminds me a bit of Bethany," he admitted quietly.

"Your sister?" Isabela had finally managed to learn some of the fabled tale of the Hawke family (plus one mannish red head)'s flight from Lothering and into the city; Varric might embellish a bit, but the facts that mattered were usually accurate.

Hawke nodded. "She was just as innocent and ready to help anyone who needed it," he said quietly, a bittersweet smile playing across his face.

Isabela shifted uncomfortably between her feet, "Yes. Such horrible qualities for a young love," she smirked, "So, what's so wrong with Carver's crush?" she smiled teasingly at Hawke.

Hawke sighed and ran his left hand through his hair, leaving it more mused then before, "She's a blood mage," he said quietly, looking at her for her reaction.

Digesting that nugget, Isabela's eyebrows rose slowly, till they nearly touched her bandanna, "Merrill? That Merrill?" she pointed to the innocent girl who appeared to be showing Carver a butterfly.

Hawke nodded.

"Well, she obviously isn't a real blood mage," Isabela scoffed.

Hawke chuckled darkly, "Everyone keeps saying that." He paused and watched the young girl for a moment, "Regardless of her intentions…one day that demon she bargained with is going to come around to collect. And then…" his face darkened.

Isabela shrugged, "It's her choice Hawke."

Hawke rocked back, then forward slightly, obviously biting back a retort.

"Speaking of mages, don't you need to go see Anders," she gestured to his hand, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

"I was actually on my way there," he admitted, sheepishly raising his poorly splinted right hand, "Thank you, for this by the way. It's not often Carver gets to hear me scream like a little girl," he added, allowing a self deprecating grin to flash across his face.

"Hm, yes, hardly your finest moment," Isabela agreed, patting him on the shoulder. Hawke returned her grin good-naturedly, but she saw the slightest redness on his cheeks and bit back a chuckle. Both he and his brother were oddly transparent in some respects.

How he'd ever managed to bluff to her about the shipment of Black Hand, remained a mystery. But it had definitely impressed her. There were very few alive, man, woman, elf, or dwarf who could match her poker face.

"Well," he said suddenly, "I really just came to make sure no dark magic was about to burn down the Alienage," he smiled at her, assuring her that he was only joking. He nodded to her, still giving her that crooked grin, "I'll see you later Merrill." The elf waved at him cheerily and said she hpped he'd stop by again soon. His smile fell as he turned to address his brother, "Carver," he nodded again, much more curtly. Carver returned the nod with a stiff one of his own. The two teens quickly returned to whatever they were doing as Hawke turned to leave.

Isabela felt a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she watched him go. He had quite the ass…which went well with all his other fine qualities. But as much fun as she had teasing the man, she still couldn't quite figure him out. He could keep up with even the most sarcastic of smooth talkers-and Kirkwall's seedy underbelly had its fair share of characters-but when push came to shove, he would destroy valuable cargo because it didn't agree with his ethics.

Ethics; the word alone was enough to make Isabela's face contort in disgust. And now, with Merrill, he obviously detested blood magic-more of his personal ethical code no doubt-but he'd shown up here to make sure she was ok because….why? She sighed in frustration. And there she went again, devoting way more thought to Hawke then he deserved. Complicated people and situations tended to be worth avoiding. Simple was good.

Fenris, for example. Her interest in him was exceptionally simple. He was all dark and broody, even with those big beautiful elven eyes. Fenris, wiith the gorgeous, intricate…glistening… tattoos that covered his body. She wanted to know exactly how much of his taunt body was covered in tattoos. Desperately. She loved elven men. It was a long standing bias and fondness she'd held, ever since an elven assassin had freed her from the slimy hands of her 27-years-her-senior-good-for-nothing-smuggler-husband when she was sixteen. As Zeveran had put it, what elves lacked in size, they tended to make up for with boundless energy and-in Zeveran's case-depraved creativity. It had been the first time she'd known sex could be pleasurable. For both parties. She shivered as she replayed the decade old memories.

Yes, it was definitely time for a drink, the pirate decided, trying to ignore the increasingly pleasant warmth in her belly.

"Well, I'll see you two later," she said cheerfully, "I am in desperate need of a couple body shots," Isabela explained, grinning giddily.

"Body shots?" the young elven mage asked, starring at her in confusion.

"Isn't it a bit…early, Isabela?" Carver asked, sounding completely mortified.

Isabela laughed. "Carver, there's no such thing as too early, only too late," she grinned as his face scrunched up, attempting to make sense of her words, "And kitten, you should stop by some time, and I'll show you," she winked mischievously and waved as she left.

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><p><em>Not much going on here I suppose. Some character moments really, and things are going to heat up a bit shortly.<em>

_I'm getting fairly close to writing the inbetween years from Act 1 to Act 2, and am more than willing to take suggestions if there are things anyone is hoping to see explored. I think what I've chosen to show from that missing time will be entertaining, but I'm definitely willing to add more. _

_Anyways._

_Enjoy and Review! :)_


	18. Getting Medieval on Medicine

_Enjoy._

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><p>"I'll be with you in a minute," Anders said, barely sparing Hawke a glance as the young mage entered the clinic.<p>

Hawke frowned, almost feeling hurt, before his eyes managed to comprehend the chaos of the clinic. All the beds were filled, and more patients were leaning against pillars and on the dirty floors, waiting for aid.

"Anders…what happened?" Hawke asked, sounding horrified.

Anders glared at him suspiciously, "Where on earth have you been? A group of thugs went on a killing spree at the docks last night; a bunch of merchants refused to pay protection money, they burned homes, boats…everything," Anders hissed, his face cracking slightly, revealing the blueish glow of Justice just beneath his skin.

"Anders!" Hawke shouted, grabbing and shaking the mage.

The mage shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as he slowly came back around. "Thanks Hawke," Anders said grimly. "Seeing things like this…it gets harder to control Justice," he admitted uncomfortably.

"That's…understandable," Hawke said slowly, trying hard to be sympathetic. He liked Anders, but the man was living with a spirit in side of him. And if there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that when people started to glow it was rarely a good thing.

Anders nodded slowly and then furrowed his brow, "What happened to your hand?" Anders reached for the injured appendage, and inspected it closely.

"Nothing that can't wait," Hawke assured the healer, nodding towards the twenty odd people and their families all moaning, coughing, and crying as they clung to each other.

"Right," Anders inhaled deeply and shook his head to clear it.

"Anders…how are you treating all these people…aren't you…exhausted?" Hawke asked nervously.

Anders gave him a shaky smile. "It's definitely not easy, but that's one of the few things the Circle is actually good for; they help train mages to increase their mana pool," he grinned ruefully, "Of course, then they tell mages that they can't actually use their magic, but that's the Templars for you," he finished bitterly, moving towards the nearest patient.

Hawke glanced around the room at the dock workers and their families, "Any way I can help?"

"Heh, thanks for the offer Hawke, but even if your hand was fine, you don't know any healing magic," Anders said stiffly, his hands glowing blue as he sealed a gushing wound on a man's arm.

"Actually, I can heal burns," Hawke admitted ruefully, "Bethany and I took a long time to learn the fireball spell," he chuckled at the memory, "We had a lot of mishaps," he finished.

Anders nodded gratefully, "Then grab a bed. We have a lot of work to do," he sighed.

Hawke moved quickly to the nearest burn victim, a small girl whose arm was badly blistered. The small girl whimpered. "Ah, it's not so bad," he promised the girl as his hand started to glow, "See," he grinned as the girl starred at her healed arm in awe, "All better," he declared, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"Do mommy next?" the girl whispered.

"Why not?" Hawke asked lightly, the usual layer of amusement in his voice. He glanced towards the door of the clinic, where even more people were entering. It was going to be a long day.

**Later:**

Hawke shivered as he sank to the ground next to a pillar in the clinic. He was pretty sure every last drop of mana had been sucked from his system. And despite the pounding headache, the cold shivers that he was having trouble suppressing, and the way the entire clinic was currently rocking back and forth, it had been completely worth it.

Anders sank to the ground next to him, "I've been doing this for almost a year now…I don't think I've ever seen the clinic so crowded," he mused, his grip tightening around the hem of his robe. His eyes traveled downwards until they settled on Hawke's hand, "Oh, Andraste's Ass, right," he again grabbed Hawke's poorly splinted hand, "Maker, Hawke, what did you do to this?"

"Crushing prison," Hawke said sheepishly. Anders' hands began to glow blue.

"Ah," Anders grinned, "I remember learning that spell back at the Circle in Fereldan. I 'accidentally' crushed the Knight-Commander's Shield…Greagoir did not appreciate that. It's a good spell for an apostate though…invisible to the eye. Good if you get into a tough spot…I know that from experience," he finished, shooting Hawke a sheepish grin. Anders removed his hands and surveyed his work. "That should do it, can you flex it?"

Hawke slowly curled and uncurled his fist, "Good as new, thanks Anders," he nodded, fighting back a wave of nausea.

"No problem, but I hope you reconsider my offer."

"What offer?"

"You could stand to learn some healing spells-rudimentary ones at the very least."

Hawke chuckled, "Have you tired of me bleeding all over your clinic already Anders?"

"Not at all. It's actually rather nice to have company besides the glowing demon in my head," the mage retorted glibly, "But, all the same, feel free to help yourself to the spell books in the back of the clinic," Anders gestured to his private quarters, a rusted door, hanging on by one hinge, which separated his sleeping quarters from the clinic.

"I might take you up on that," Hawke admitted, rubbing his hands in an attempt stop the numb tingling in them, "But first I think that the mercs responsible for the dock fires need to be dealt with."

Anders expression darkened and he growled, "Agreed. Rumor has it the group roving the docks are the same one that Sebastian Vael is after."

"Who?"

"He's a nobleman from Starkhaven. He posted a call for justice on the Chanters board in Hightown not too long ago."

Hawke laughed, "Ah, that guy. He nearly took off the Grand Cleric's head with an arrow from what I hear." Hawke sighed and shut his eyes, leaning his head against the wall behind him. He inhaled deeply, willing the world around him to stop moving.

"Hawke?" Anders sounded concerned.

The young mages eyes snapped open and he shot the healer a quick grin before jumping to his feet, surprising himself with how smoothly he'd accomplished the feat. "Well, I was going to take out the dock thugs for free, but if a nobleman wants to pay me for it, far be it from me to stop him," Hawke grinned.

Anders chuckled, "You're a cocky bastard," he shook his head. "If you're still hurting for work though, I've heard another rumor that might be of interest to you."

"Oh?"

"Sounds like the Viscount's son has been kidnapped," Anders raised an eyebrow.

Hawke grinned glibly, "More rich nobles with problems and too much money on their hands," he nodded, "I'll look into it. Thanks for the tip."

"Well, if you can stand the smell down here, I'm almost as good a source of information as that dwarf you travel with," Anders explained glibly.

"Varric might embellish a bit-a lot actually- but the…stench of Darktown is really too much to bear just to get accurate information I'm afraid," Hawke retorted, allowing a teasing grin to spread across his face.

"Take care Hawke."

"Thank you for your help Anders," Hawke nodded solemnly.

"It's what I'm here for," the mage bowed his head slightly, a grin dancing at the corners of his lips.

**Later:**

Hawke swung his staff, stabbing the bladed end through the belly of an approaching goon. The man froze, blood pooling in his mouth, his eyes wide in shock and pain, and toppled over dead. Hawke sighed and ran a hand across his forehead, not surprised by the layer of sweat that came off onto his sleeve. He surveyed the battlefield and felt a small, tired smile form on his lips; this seemed to be the last of the thugs working the docks. The bastards were finally dead. Hopefully that would be enough to give their victims a little peace of mind.

After inhaling a bottle of lyrium in a back alley, Hawke had headed straight for the Hanged Man- pulling Carver away from his puppy dog crush on the way-of course. On the way to the pub, he'd happened to run into Aveline, who, having gotten word of the fires, had instantly come looking for him, hoping that the mage would deal out a little pain of his own on the house burning thugs. Varric, who was always pragmatic, had taken no time to convince. "It stops being a business deal when homes burn down Hawke," the dwarf had muttered, sounding almost angry.

Isabela, however, had been unreachable. Leaning down over one of the dead bodies, Hawke used the cloth of one thugs shirts to wipe his blade clean. Unreachable was really the wrong word. He knew very well where she was and-his face flushed-what she was doing. Approaching her room at the Hanged Man had probably been a mistake. The sounds coming from behind the closed door left very little to the imagination.

Well, except for the fact that he was pretty sure he had made out three voices. Not two. His face flushed even more and he shifted uncomfortably between his feet. Not that it was any of his business.

"Well, I'm glad that's taken care of," Varric said solemnly, throwing Bianca back over his shoulder.

Hawke nodded, staring down at the dead bodies of the thugs.

"I think you owe me that coin back by the way," Varric added, extending his hand towards Hawke.

Hawke forced a grin to his face, knowing that, in addition to really wanting his coin back, Varric was only trying to lighten the mood for him; he wouldn't waste the dwarf's efforts.

"You really think that puny bow and arrow kept up with my magic?" he challenged, leaning over to sift through the thugs pockets for anything of value.

Varric gasped, "Hawke, say what you want about me, about dwarves as whole-even about my own mother- but to insult Bianca?" he shook his head in disappointment.

Hawke grinned and mentally went over the battle in his head, "I killed 8," he admitted.

Varric's face fell, "Shit. We've never had a tie before."

Hawke grinned and pulled the coin from his belt. He flipped it and let it dance across his knuckles, "Well, I don't think a tie counts as you beating me Varric," he slipped the coin back into his pouch, feeling smug, "I think I'll hang onto this," he finished as Varric pouted at him.

Aveline stared at them in horror, "You two are completely insufferable," she murmured.

Hawke sighed. The moment of levity was gone, leaving only a hollow feeling in his chest. There was so much death in this city. And he was a part of so much of it. He ran his hand through his hair, "Let's get out of here…we did what we came here for. I'll talk to this Sebastian Vael in the morning," he finished, leaning down to close the eyes of one of the thugs. Only a little more gold…then this period of his life-of Carver's life-could be behind them. They could sit back and relax in a lap of luxury; and he wouldn't have to keep killing people.

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><p><em>Before anyone gets their hopes up...I'm not actually introducing Sebastian yet. (probably not till the second act actually). It bothers me that he doesn't become a real party member till the second act. And even once he's introduced he won't have a big role anyways. <em>

_Enjoy and Review._


	19. Follow the Leader

_I'm glad everyone is still enjoying and sticking with this fic! :) Thank you guys!_

_There's an itty bitty time skip here...it's still in ACT 1, but so much of the last few chapters happened within like a week of each other, and it took them months to get the gold in 'gmae world' time. If that makes any sense..._

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><p>It was Anders, of course, who came to the hovel with a rumor about a missing elven boy who was-supposedly-being hunted by the Templars. Feynriel was his name.<p>

And, if perusing a missing adolescent apostate who-as Carver was quick to point out-was simultaneously being pursued by the Templar's wasn't troublesome enough, this particular mage was plagued by dreams of demons. And that, Hawke knew, was never ever a good thing.

"I still don't see why we're butting our noses into this," Isabela grumbled. She'd been in a bad mood ever since they left the city; persuing Feynriel and his captures to the Wounded Coast. The pirate's love of the ocean seemed rivaled only by her hatred of all other types of nature. Hawke suspected it had to do with the lack of booze…and booty. Both kinds.

"Oh, come on Rivaini, it's because our fearless leader is just a bleeding heart," Varric teased.

Hawke looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide in alarm, "When did I get elected leader of this merry band of misfits?" he asked, trying to veil his concern in sarcasm.

It seemed to work. "Yes, when did he?" Carver asked, folding his arms over his chest wearing a facial expression that could only be described as pouting.

Varric grinned at the pair of them smugly, "What, you mean you missed the vote?"

Hawke rolled his eyes as Carver's ears turned red.

"Hawke, I sent you a memo about it!" Varric hollered. Hawke could practically feel the dwarfs grin.

"To answer Isabela's original question," Hawke said glibbly, "We're doing this because if I have to hear Anders rattle on about the plight of the mages even once more…" Hawke sighed, letting the empty threat die on his lips.

"At least we're in agreement on something brother," Carver muttered.

Anders, Hawke had finally decided, was not only a good mage, but a good friend. Over the last two months, he'd indulged Hawke's desire to learn new spells, and had even donated his time whenever Hawke was in need of advice regarding a new spell. But he tended to wear his rather controversial political opinions on his sleeves. And he was more than willing to share them with anyone who would listen-and often times with those who had no desire to listen. He was still wary of the man though. Demon or not, a spirit of the fade was inside his head. And that sat no better with Hawke then Merrill's blood magic did. As Varric would say, that story wasn't set up for a happy ending.

"Oh right," Isabela sighed, "The mages plight. I do believe I've heard of that somewhere," she mused.

"Feynriel hasn't hurt anyone," Hawke said seriously, "He doesn't deserve to be hunted and branded an apostate…or a blood mage. Not yet."

"So we aren't turning him over to the Templars?" Carver asked, sounding horrified.

Hawke shrugged casually, "I haven't made up my mind yet," Hawke lied. The boy wasn't running towards the Templars. He clearly didn't want to be a part of the Circle…if there was an alternative to that, Hawke hoped they could find it; before the Templars got involved and forced anyone's hand.

Isabela sighed. "I don't care what we do. But if he turns into an abomination like those Starkhaven mages did? I'm leaving."

Hawke's face darkened at the memory. He sincerely hoped that Grace and her mage friends managed to avoid getting captured by the Templars, mainly because he hoped to never see them again. They'd done nothing obviously wrong, other than wanting their freedom, something he wasn't about to turn them over to Templars for. But they'd also been in the company of a few known blood mages.

Hawke paused as they rounded a bend in the road, "Well, that looks like an entrance to a slaver's cavern to me. Isabela?"

"Definitely," she agreed, her amber eyes darkening angrily as she eyed the foreboding looking cave. The group entered it quietly, wanting to avoid attention.

"Hawke, a little light in here," Varric grumbled.

Hawke tightened his grip on his staff, channeling his mana into the orb at the top until it started giving off a soft red glow.

"We need to hurry. We've been searching for this kid for two days now…who knows what's been done to him…or his captures," Hawke said darkly.

Eventually the dark cavern opened up into a mining tunnel. Small shafts of light seeped in, providing just enough light by which to maneuver through the caves. They paused, when the passage way forked.

"When in doubt…go right?" Hawke offered helpfully.

"It's as good a guess as any," Varric agreed, surveying the winding passageway cautiously.

"Let's just hurry up and get out of here," Carver muttered, suppressing a shiver, "This place is creepy."

"Imagine that, creepy slavers have a creepy hideout on a creepy coast," Hawke teased as he led the way down the passage.

Carver glared at him murderously, "Yes brother, we get it. You're the funny one."

"Well as long as we've finally reached consensus," Hawke grinned.

They were only one hundred yards in when: "Did you hear that?" Isabela asked suddenly, pulling her daggers.

"No. What?" Varric asked, reaching slowly for Bianca.

Isabela relaxed from her battle stance slowly, "Nothing…"

They continued on in silence till Hawke heard a soft pattering sound and froze.

"Ok, you heard that, don't you?" Isabela whispered.

"Definitely Rivaini," Varric agreed, pulling Bianca from his back.

"Well we should-" Hawke didn't finish his thought, as suddenly a large black blur dropped on him from above, knocking him clean off his feet.

"Hawke!"

As his body slammed against the ground, and his staff skid out of his hands, Hawke was vaguely aware of the fact that other creatures had landed as well, surrounding his companions.

A shaft of light fell on the creatures face and Hawke screamed. The fur covered face, the menacing pincers, and the long sinewy legs towered over him made him instantly aware of what was on top of him. "Spider," he screamed, thrashing and kicking at the creature that easily had a few hundred pounds on him.

The others, having figured out what they were facing, quickly went to work, as Hawke tried desperately to push the creature off him.

"Just use a fireball," Carver yelled, sounding less than concerned.

"It's on top of me Carver!" Hawke yelled back, "Where do you think the fire would spread!"

"Crushing Prison then Hawke? Isn't that a spell?" Varric hollered from clear across the chamber as he fired off bolt after bolt.

"And have it explode all over me!" the creature lunged at Hawke's face and the mage swung his head to the side to avoid being crushed in its pincers. "No thanks!" Hawke finished, slamming his fist against the mammoth creatures leg.

A sudden squelching noise froze Hawke and the spider. A gooey fluid dripped down on Hawke as Isabela stood above the spider, her blade sticking out of its back. She pulled her blade from the giant spiders back and kicked it quickly off of Hawke. "All better," she said dryly before devolving into a fit of laughter with Varric.

"Who knew…our fearless leader….was so terrified of spiders," Varric all but spluttered as he wiped his eyes.

Isabela was hanging onto the dwarf for support. "Get it off me…Get it off me…did you hear him?" she laughed.

"I didn't say that…" Hawke muttered.

"You did brother," Carver informed him, obviously on the verge of hysterics himself.

Hawke felt his face burn red and was thankful for the darkness, "I hate spiders," he muttered, "Ever since Bethany and I stumbled across them in that cave in Lothering…they're everywhere those bastards," he seethed as he grabbed his staff and stabbed the creature again for good measure. "Come on…if spiders are down this passageway the slavers must be down the other," the young mage ordered, trying to muster some shred of dignity.

Isabela and Varric were still struggling to breathe. "And this time, one of you can take the lead," he added. Isabela managed to contain her delight to a few sporadic giggles and started down the passageway with Carver in tow.

"Hawke, I think you owe me that silver," Varric said smugly.

"What?"

"I think your little display counts as…a rather unmanly loss for you my friend," Varric wiggled his fingers at Hawke as if to say cough it up and Hawke sighed and fished the coin out of his pocket. Varric chuckled, "Don't feel so bad Hawke. This will make a great addition to the serial I'm writing about our adventures. The audience will love that the leader character isn't some fearless demi-god…it'll make him more relatable," the dwarf explained smugly.

"I'm not the leader!" Hawke insisted desperately. Varric just shrugged, "I'm not!"

They made it back to the fork in the chamber with only minimal regaling of the Hawke vs. the Spider tale, a tale which, if Isabela had her way-and she typically did-would never be forgotten at the groups weekly drinking session at the Hanged Man. Hawke ran his hand through his hair in frustration; this story would do dreadful things for his image.

"Come no further," A voice instructed. The companions' heads snapped upwards. On a cliff above them stood the leader of the slavers with a knife to an elven boys throat.

Hawke sighed. "Isabela, care to do the honors," he asked dryly.

"I'd love to spider-boy," she teased, simultaneously flinging a knife directly into the slavers head, dropping him dead on the spot. The elven boy stood paralyzed on the spot, unsure of what to do as the remaining slavers began to attack the group mercilessly.

As Isabela and Carver leapt into the fray, Varric headed for high ground, slamming the butt of his crossbow into the chest of anyone in his way. Hawke sighed; Anders had advised him time and again to keep his distance in battle and to attack from the far, but that just never felt right. Hawke threw himself into the fray head first, icing a slaver at point blank range before firing a rock fist into another's gut, sending him flying straight into the wall before he dropped dead. Seeing a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, Hawke spun to see a rogue getting much too close to Isabelas back side. The former pirate captain was busy dueling two other slavers and didn't seem aware of her stealthy, would-be attacker. Quickly, Hawke slung a fireball behind the pirates back, incinerating the approaching man. Isabela stabbed one of her frontal attackers through the gut and slit the others neck, ending the battle.

"I would've gotten to that one," Isabela said with a pout, gesturing to the fried corpse behind her.

Hawke shrugged, "I said I had your back," he quipped lightly, grinning at her crookedly.

Isabela returned his smile, looking equal parts amused and uncomfortable, but she said nothing.

"Who-who are you?" the boy stuttered, interrupting any further conversation. "Do…you work for the Templars?"

"Varric, how could you not tell me that the Templars were hiring mages now?" Hawke quipped, glancing up at his dwarven friend who was still on the cliff.

"I swear I didn't know Hawke," Varric grinned, "But you have to admit it is a brilliant plan. Recruit the mages, have them capture mages, then capture the mages who captured mages. Ingenius," he mused.

"Which is probably why they haven't thought of it," Carver muttered sarcastically.

Hawke grinned. "Your mother sent us, Feynriel," he said calmly.

The boy stiffened, "I don't really see a difference. She wants me shipped off to the Templars," he folded his arms across his chest.

"If you're having nightmares about demons Feynriel, then it's in everyone's best interest-yours included-that you get some help," Hawke explained, barely able to contain the urge to be glib.

"I don't want to go," The boy said stubbornly, stopping just short of stomping his foot, "I was trying to get to the Dalish. They have magic, and they can teach me to control it…and it's a better life than being made Tranquil," he shivered.

Hawke clenched his jaw. Anything was a better life then that; that was definitely true. Hawke sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "I know the Keeper of the Dalish clan up in Sundermount…it's maybe a days walk North," Hawke said. "I won't stop you."

As they watched the boy run off Carver sighed. "I cannot believe you just let a potentially dangerous mage go free."

Hawke shrugged, "Anyone, mage or not, is potentially dangerous Carver," he turned and gave his brother his sweetest smile, "Besides, dear brother, aren't you used to being disappointed with my choices?"

"It's true. You'd think I'd be use to it by now," Carver retorted.

"Geez…just whip it out already," Isabela muttered.

"What was that Isabela?" Hawke asked.

"Oh, nothing? Me…I didn't say anything," Isabela said innocently, "Oh look, is that a spider?" she pointed up the path and giggled as Hawke jumped. "Oh, nope, just more of Hawke's lost dignity…lurking in the shadows," she teased, winking at the mage as she passed him. "Come along now Hawke, we've been away from civilization long enough haven't we? I, for one, need a good stiff one and a drink."

Carver shook his head, "She is the dirtiest woman I've ever met," he whispered, sounded disgusted.

Hawke grinned from ear to ear, "It's wonderful isn't it?"

"Ye-what? No! It's…Maker something is wrong with you," Carver shook his head as he walked away.

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><p><em>This was a silly chapter. I enjoyed writing it lol. I hope it was a decent read :)<em>

_Also, just in case anyone is getting antsy, the Deep Roads and the end of Act 1 is just around the corner. Promise!_

_Enjoy and Review!_


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